


The Five People Who Missed Peter Parker the Most

by seekrest



Series: It's Quiet Uptown [1]
Category: Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Deathfic, Grief/Mourning, Hurt Peter Parker, I Made Myself Cry, I'm Sorry, More like grief-fic, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Not Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Compliant, Peter Parker Deserves Better, Sort Of, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-21
Updated: 2019-04-26
Packaged: 2020-01-23 14:57:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 32,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18552091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seekrest/pseuds/seekrest
Summary: And the one who was there when he left.Or...A journey through grief from the perspectives of those Peter Parker left behind.





	1. Mr. Delmar

**Author's Note:**

> Listening to the Hamilton soundtrack for the thousandth time and for some reason, ["It's Quiet Uptown"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vjEoOeXId1k) hit me even harder today.  
> Infinity War was almost a year ago and it still wrecks me.  
> Now with Endgame coming out, all I can think of was that it wasn't permanent.  
> Somehow, someway, Peter is going to come back.
> 
> So what happens if he doesn't? 
> 
> What happens when you have to deal with the unimaginable?

Rodrigo Delmar is many things.  
  
A good father.  
  
Quick with numbers and easy-going – a jack of all trades.  
  
He knows when the city inspector is going to send out some stuffy official to check his place out, knows when the Mets lose that the people in his shop are going to be crankier than normal.  
  
A widower. A business owner. A Spider-Man fan.  
  
He may not be the smartest man in the galaxy, may not even be the smartest man in Queens – but he does know this.  
  
He knows Peter Parker is a good kid.  
  
So when he doesn’t show up one day, Delmar notices.

 

* * *

 

The lull in the afternoon, right before school gets out, is always the hardest part of Delmar’s day.

Him and Manny try and pass the time, shooting the shit, making bets on which punk kid is going to try and steal a pack of beer today. It doesn’t happen often, but often enough that he can joke about it.  
  
“I don’t know man, it’s like they think I’m made of money.” He says while lifting a box from the back.

He got a new shipment of kidney beans, ordered special for the lady off of 69th.  
  
She’s new to Queens, new to the US, and had searched frantically for some specific kind of bean for a recipe she had in mind.  
  
Delmar had tried to explain to her that he had plenty of other beans to choose from – pinto beans, black beans, soybeans, hell green beans if that’s what she was into – but the lady had been insistent.  
  
She started to yell, Delmar was ready to kick her out. He had had enough drama to deal with that day, when he saw the tears in her eyes.  
  
It wasn’t about the beans. It was never about the beans.  
  
Delmar knew first-hand what it was like to come over with nothing, have to build a brand-new life over in a place that wasn’t always so welcoming.  
  
Queens was a large borough, one of the largest in the city. But Delmar made it his mission to make his little corner feel like home.  
  
He made it his mission to know his customers, remember their faces and their names, bring a little slice of the comfort he had had back home into his little corner shop.  
  
He promised the lady he would order some kidney beans, ignoring the look he got from Manny as she thanked him profusely.  
  
She left his shop with a little light to her step. And that’s all Delmar could wish for.  
  
Next to seeing his daughter succeed in school, making his place somewhere everyone felt welcome and belonged – it was the thing he was most proud of.

 

* * *

 

Delmar walked out the back with the box of beans, glanced at the clock and said, “Hey get the pickles ready, Parker will be here in a minute.”  
  
“Shit man, that kid’s got you wrapped around his finger.” Delmar laughed.  
  
“Yeah, yeah, he’s a good kid and never lets his IOU’s go over a week so he’s alright in my book.”  
  
Now it’s Manny’s turn to laugh. “You think everyone’s alright, D. I don’t know how you stay optimistic, man.”  
  
Delmar gave a soft laugh and said, “Life’s shit, Manny. Gotta find the good things where you can.”  
  
To his credit, Manny averts his eyes away and gets to work on Parker’s sandwich.

 

* * *

  
It’d been five years since Delmar’s wife had passed away. Cancer. Stage IV. It was like a bad cliché, like one of the shitty movies she had always roped him into watching.

Seeing his wife fade away was difficult, but Delmar was convinced that wasn’t the worst part of it all.  
  
The worst part wasn’t seeing her during chemo, wasn’t holding her hand as she died, wasn’t even burying her.  
  
The worst part was the next day, when he woke up in bed alone, hearing his daughter cry in the other room.  
  
He had promised himself that he’d do anything for Nadia. For anyone who came into his shop that they would never feel as alone as he felt that first day. That he would look out for his customers. Especially the kids.  
  
Especially Peter Parker.

 

* * *

  
Delmar remembered the first time he met Peter Parker, just a few weeks after he had moved in with his aunt and uncle. His wife was still alive, his daughter had gotten all A’s on her recent report card, and he hadn’t gotten robbed in two weeks.  
  
It was a good time for the best sandwich maker in Queens.  
  
The bell rang. Delmar gave a quick nod to the man who walked in – Ben Parker, #2 with olives, hold the peppers – and almost missed the small, brown-haired kid behind him.  
  
“Hey little man, how you doin’?” Delmar reached his hand out and the kid. He could’ve been anywhere from six to eight Delmar would’ve guessed, he was so small. The kid politely put his hand out and shook it.  
  
“Ahh tough grip. I’ll have to keep my eyes on you tough guy.” He winked and nodded towards Ben, who seemed different. On edge.  
  
Ben Parker was usually talkative, joining in with Delmar on a rant about some politician or about the damn Yankees game – how a man as good as Ben Parker could root for the Yankees was beyond him – but today he was quiet, protective over the little boy with him.  
  
“Come on Petey, let’s grab some lunch and then we’ll head home ‘kay?” The boy nodded mutely, looking more glum than Delmar had ever seen a kid before.  
  
“You like turkey, kid?” The boy’s head shot up and he gave it a little shake.  
  
“How about ham?” Delmar asked, “I got a ham and swiss that’ll knock your socks off.” The kid seemed to think about it before giving a little nod.  
  
“Alright Manny you heard the tough guy, a #5 coming right up. And a #2 hold the pep.”  
  
Ben took his wallet out of his back pocket when Delmar noticed the boy tugging on Ben’s shirt. Ben reached down to listen while the kid whispered. Ben smiled softly and said, “You can tell him, Petey. He won’t bite.”  
  
Delmar leaned forward. “What’s up tough guy?”  
  
The boy pushed his glasses up before whispering something indecipherable to him.  
  
“I’m sorry kid, I’m an old man so you’re gonna have to speak up.”  
  
“Can I have pickles, please?”  
  
The voice was so small, fitting for a kid so little.  
  
“Oh is that all? My man, you’re acting like I’m Enzo’s across the street. This is Delmar’s bodega, best sandwich shop in Queens. If a tough guy like you wants pickles, that’s no problem at all.”  
  
“How much extra?” Ben asked, opening up his wallet again but Delmar waved him off.  
  
“For the tough guy? No charge. Gotta keep the kid on my good side.” Delmar smiled then winked at the kid and for the first time since he walked into the shop, the kid smiled  
back.  
  
It hadn’t been till a few weeks later that the Delmar learned how and why Ben and his wife May had suddenly acquired a 2nd grader.  
  
Tragedy didn’t care who you were, Delmar thought to himself as he listened to his daughter’s laughter in the kitchen. His wife was cooking, his daughter was “helping” in that way that kids do, and Delmar sat up to join them. But first, he gave a little prayer for the little brown-haired boy.  
  
_To have so much tragedy when you’re so young._ Delmar shook away the sadness and walked into the kitchen. There was no tragedy here. Only laughter, joy and love.

 

* * *

  
Delmar’s shop was open 24/7– rain or shine. He had remembered closing the shop only 3 times before.

Once for the birth of his daughter, a sunny day made brighter because Nadia was brought into it.  
  
The next for another sunny day, in September… when his city and the world felt a lot darker.  
  
The third was the day when Delmar learned that his world wasn’t the only one – when gods, aliens and superpowered beings fought.  
  
Each time he had held his family closer, prayed that the monsters would pass over them.  
  
He hadn’t expected the monster that took his wife. And when she left, the world felt darker again.  
  
Delmar closed the shop for a week. Opened it back up a few days after the funeral.  
  
He couldn’t justify keeping it closed any longer, not when he had hospital bills still to pay for a treatment that didn’t work, for a woman no longer there.  
  
The morning had passed by in a blur, going through the motions – leaning more on Manny than usual to take the lead.  
  
Delmar liked Manny – smart-mouthed, cocky, a bit too friendly with the Enzo shop girl – but could’ve kissed him for how much he took the lead that day.  
He didn’t have it to spare but he put a note in his head to give Manny a raise.  
  
Delmar didn’t notice when the bell rang, looking off into the distance after catching a whiff of some perfume that was faintly reminiscent of his wife’s.  
  
He was trying to figure out if they were the same, brought back only by the wave of one Ben Parker, his wife May and a little boy named Peter.  
  
“Hey Rodrigo, just wanted to stop by. We’re so sorry for your loss.” Ben gave a small smile while his wife May stood beside him, a casserole dish in hand.  
  
Delmar shouldn’t have been surprised. He had been given a variety of condolences the past week, had enough lasagnas in his fridge to feed an army, much less him and Nadia, but the sight of the Parkers’ brought him back down to the present.  
  
“Thanks Ben, May. I appreciate it.” He said mechanically, reaching out for the casserole as May handed it to him.  
  
“Carolina is—was the best cook and I know this can’t even begin to compare but I-I, found a recipe online for enchiladas and it seemed so simple, but of course it wasn’t… and I just thought – we thought – it might be something different for you and Nadia. I hope it’s okay.”  
  
May stammered, stumbling over herself as people usually do when talking to someone who had lost a loved one. Delmar was used to it by now. _How do you sympathize with the unimaginable?_ He thought to himself. _I hope you never have to._

“Thanks May, Ben. Really, this is – thank you.” Delmar took the dish and set it down, debating whether he should leave it here or take it home.

He appreciated the gesture but had heard enough stories of May’s cooking from Ben to doubt how successful her attempt had been, when Peter’s quiet voice shook him out of his thoughts.

“Mr. Delmar, I’m really sorry to hear about your wife. She was really nice… I’m gonna miss her.”

Delmar’s eyes began to glisten. Carolina had had a soft spot for Peter, always had ever since Delmar had told her about his parents.

“ _Pobrecito_ , without his parents? And so young? You look after him, Rodrigo.” She murmured as she folded a towel. Delmar nodded alongside her, folding a towel from his own pile.

“I do Lina. I do.”

Peter hadn’t known about their conversation, hadn’t spoken more than three words to her when Carolina had come to the shop as far Delmar knew. But Peter knew loss – better than anyone, knew what to say when someone was facing it.

Sometimes the simple things are the most important.

“Thanks tough guy, I appreciate it. Hey, you hungry? I can whip Manny’s lazy ass into gear to make you something really quick.”

“Hey!” Manny exclaimed. Peter laughed and shook his head. “Nah, but thanks Mr. Delmar. I’ll come in tomorrow though okay?”

His face beamed, before glancing toward his aunt and uncle – almost as if to ask permission, knowing he didn’t need it.

“Sounds great, Petey. You can pick up my order while you’re at it.” Ben ruffled his nephew’s hair and Peter squawked, trying to tame it again. The Parkers gave a small wave, May giving a small smile, as they walked out.

Delmar smiled to himself. Carolina had been right. Peter Parker was a good kid.

 

* * *

  
Peter Parker was late.

It was almost seven, the sun was beginning to set, and he hadn’t seen Parker all day.

Delmar was sure the kid got out of school around 2:45, usually made it to his shop by 3 or 3:15 depending on how shit the MTA was that day.

“Hey Manny, you seen Parker yet?” Delmar yelled out to the back.

“Nah, his sandwich got soggy so I just threw it out. Figured I’d make him a new one when he got here but haven’t seen him.” Manny came to the front, ready to put the new shipment of flour out.

“Huh. Well, kid’s probably just busy.”

“Sure man, you know kids.”

Delmar smiled then turned when the bell rang. It wasn’t Parker or the lady with the kidney beans. Another regular - #7 all the dressings with a pack of Marlboros. Delmar waved and then got to work.

 

* * *

  
It wasn’t until the next day that he had heard about Spider-Man.

He didn’t know all the details, bits and pieces on the subway, conversations overheard from customers.

Spider-Man, Queen’s very own superhero, had died last night.

Delmar didn’t pay too much attention the superheroes of the world. After the Battle of New York, he had come to grips with the fact that they existed – that there were forces out there beyond his borough.

But after Carolina died, he didn’t care about the details. He had helped Nadia with her homework on the Sokovia thing, argued with customers about whether Tony Stark was more philanthropist than playboy (Delmar bet on the former), but for the most part – he didn’t give much thought to the ‘Avengers’.

Except for Spider-Man. Delmar had a soft spot for Spider-Man.

Part of it was because he was a Queens boy. While the Avengers always seemed ready to fight – and inevitably bring about – world ending destruction, Spider-Man kept it close the ground, focused on the little guy. Delmar liked that.

Plus, he’d saved him and his cat once, after some bank robbery gone awry.

The cleanup was going to be monstrous. He had heard horror stories from fellow bodega owners about facing the collateral damage following shit with like this.

The world used to be so much simpler.

But after Damage Control came and went, Delmar found out that all the expenses had been paid for. That Tony Stark himself had pledged to fix the shop up and pay for any damaged inventory.

He didn’t keep up with the superhero shit. Wasn’t sure how his little shop in Queens even made Tony Stark’s radar.

But he had a feeling Spider-Man had something to do with that.

Hearing that Spider-Man was gone just felt like a kick in the gut.

 

* * *

  
The next day passed by in a hurry, the shop feeling busier but quieter at the same time. More details started to come out about Spider-Man’s death, but Delmar didn’t pay attention.

It’s not that he didn’t care. It’s just he wondered why it mattered. Spider-Man was gone. The death, the dying – it was hard. It was a shock.

But it was the living afterward that was even harder. The ache of getting back up and living.

It wasn’t until he rolled himself into bed that he realized that for the second day in a row, Peter Parker hadn’t come into the shop.

 

* * *

  
The next two days passed by much like the first had, that first day when the city found out about Spider-Man.

Business was good for Delmar, but he didn’t take any joy in it. He sold out of flowers, half of the city’s actual flower shops – much less bodegas – were out of flowers. But people still came by all the same.

Popup memorials for Spider-Man had sprung up everywhere. Delmar was almost proud, how much their local hero was loved.

People were quieter than normal… reminded him of that day back in September all those years ago. And again, when a few years later when aliens had poured in from the sky.

Delmar empathized with them, his customers with the vacant eyes and somber expressions. Maybe they hadn’t known loss before.

And yeah, no one knew who Spider-Man really was. But they still knew him, had known he was out there.

Now he was gone. And Delmar knew that coming to grips with that would take a very long time.

 

* * *

  
By the fifth day, Delmar was worried.

He hadn’t heard seen Parker since last week. A part of him wondered if he was being paranoid.

The city was in mourning. More details had come out about Spider-Man’s death. Something sacrificial, something that saved a lot of people.

Delmar wasn’t surprised. His heart ached. Looking out for the little guy till the end.

Maybe the kid was just keeping close to home, as kids usually do when the big things happen.

If it was the end of the month, Delmar would’ve guessed that he was just saving his change – a well-meaning attempt to help his aunt with rent.

Parker had skipped out during the week a lot in the months after his uncle died. It wasn’t until he cornered the kid as he walked by that Delmar realized that the kid hadn’t been able to afford it, hadn’t wanted to ask his aunt for extra money.

It was then that Delmar had established the IOU – pay what he could when he could. He knew Parker was good for it.

And he had been.

But that was over three years ago now. Kid hadn’t missed a day – or a sandwich – since.

_Where’s the kid?_

 

* * *

 

It shouldn’t have taken him as long to check as it did. But Delmar wasn’t trying to be creepy. He was just concerned for the kid.

He asks around first, sees if any of his regulars had heard from the Parker kid. He got blank stares and shrugs. Delmar sighed. He shouldn’t be surprised.

Not everyone kept track of the people around them.

He grabbed his phone from out of his back pocket and opened up social media. He had created a profile ages ago, a joint account with his wife.

She used it more than he had, and when she passed – Delmar didn’t have any use for it.

But he never deleted his profile, never took the app off his phone. It was a small connection to Carolina, the most insignificant one imaginable.

But when the people you love are gone, you take anything you can get.

He scrolls through the app, trying and failing to see where he could search for someone, when Manny comes in from the back.

“Boss?”

“Yeah?” Delmar says absentmindedly. His thumbs are too big, he can’t figure out this damn thing, where to go to look up for the kid.

“Boss… I gotta…”

“Yeah… do your thing man.” Delmar waves him off.

Manny always something he has to do, some scheme or some girl. He doesn’t care. He’s a good worker. He’ll come back for second shift if he needs him. Why can’t he get this app to work?

“Rodrigo.”

Delmar’s head snaps up and that’s when he sees Manny, tears in eyes. Hands shaking.

“Manny what’s wrong? You alright man? Is it your mom?” Delmar goes to put the phone down, thinking that whatever Parker’s into, it can wait.

“It’s Pete, man. Peter Parker.”

It’s like world stops. He knows the words Manny’s going to say before he says them. Knows this feeling of dread, _remembers_ this feeling – right before you hear news that’s going to shatter the world around you.

But it can’t be true. So he pushes – stubbornly, refusing to believe the sinking feeling in his stomach. The static in the back of his mind that he’s all too familiar with.

“What happened?”

“He’s gone, man. Parker’s gone.”

Delmar drops his phone.

 

* * *

 

When the doctor had come in to tell him his wife was dying, Delmar already knew it. Carolina hadn’t been sick long, but the toll the illness took on her had been quick – it had taken less than six months before she was gone.

Delmar had been almost thankful for that.

The speed of her illness gave them a window. A short amount of time to process it, but some time at least. To know it was coming. To prepare – as best as he could – for a life without her. To prepare Nadia for a life without her mother.

He would give anything in the world to have her back. Would give himself in her place.

But he could at least be thankful that when she went, they knew it was coming.

Sudden loss. Death that comes out of nowhere?

Delmar didn’t know how he would’ve handled that.

 

* * *

  
It was flowers.

Some kid from was crying outside the bodega, staring at at the empty flower containers. Manny hadn’t recognized him but recognized the letterman jacket, noticed it was the same school as Peter’s.

The kid had gotten lost, trying to find flowers but couldn’t after Spider-Man had died and now he was late for a funeral he didn’t feel like going to anyway.

Manny had tried to calm the kid down, but he had gotten hysterical, ranting about how he couldn’t believe he was crying over stupid Parker anyway.

Hearing Parker’s name had given Manny pause – and as much as he hated to traumatize the kid further, he wanted to make sure he heard right.

“Parker?”

“Yeah stupid idiot Penis Parker had to get himself killed. Same week as Spider-Man as if I wasn’t having a shit week to begin with. So now I’m here, trying to find some flowers for this idiot’s funeral and I…” the kid had faltered, holding in a choked sob.

“I was such an ass. I am-I am such an ass and now he’s dead. I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean any of it, I was just—Parker was so damn good at everything you know? And he didn’t even try? I just- I was just _jealous_ but that doesn't even matter now cause he's dead and now I'm the ass going to his funeral without flowers and I just-”

It was then that Manny had become forceful.

“Kid slow down. Parker? What Parker? Peter? Peter Parker that goes to Midtown?”

The kid’s eyes snapped up, briefly broken out of the stupor.

“Ye-Yeah? You know him?”

 

* * *

  
Peter Parker was dead.

Delmar closed the shop.

 

* * *

  
Some part of him wished he had known sooner. Wished he had asked Manny to press how it had happened. But it didn’t matter. Not really.

It was the after that mattered. And the funeral was part of the after.

He would’ve went. Would’ve worn his best suit, would’ve ordered the best flowers.

They would’ve been astronomical, the flowers. Every bodega in Queens was trying to keep up the demands of the makeshift Spider-Man memorials popping up.

But Delmar would’ve taken the loss. Would’ve worked for hours to make up for it.

Peter Parker was a good kid. He deserved the best.

 

* * *

 

Delmar locked the door behind him, walked to his couch, and felt the world crashing down on him.

He wished he had known about the funeral. Felt a small burn of anger that he hadn't known. But he couldn’t begrudge May Parker for forgetting to tell him.

He remembers that grief all too well. The grief she shared when Ben died. It was a club that none of them wanted to be a part of – when your spouse dies and leaves you to pick up the pieces.

To lose your spouse is earth-shattering.

_To lose a child is unimaginable._

He wondered if he would’ve been invited anyway, if May had had the presence of mind to tell him. Maybe not. It’s not like Delmar knew him that well.

But he did.

He knew the kid hated too much bread in his sandwiches, some leftover trauma from choking when he was younger. Almost seventeen and he still asked for his sandwiches to be flattened like he did when he was ten.

_Oh God. Peter was only sixteen._

He knew the kid hated needles, hated anything to do with shots. But he dutifully got his flu shot every year, preaching to Delmar about the benefits it gave, before it devolved into some rant about people distrusting doctors.

He had sounded so much like Ben. Delmar had missed those chats with Ben, so he looked forward to the ones with Peter.

_Ben and Peter are reunited now._

Delmar knew when the kid was having a bad week. Parker had faced more troubles in his short life than some men had in decades, but he still kept going. Still chattering, still smiling like he didn’t have a care in the world.

So when the bags under his eyes got deeper and when he moved just a bit slower, Delmar always made sure to give him just a few more pickles than normal. Throw in an extra candy bar into his bag.

Peter always smiled a little brighter the next day and Delmar knew – without saying a word – that they understood each other.

_You can’t hold an understanding with the dead._

Delmar hadn’t known where Peter Parker lived exactly. Didn’t know his favorite color or which girl he had a crush on.

But he did know Parker. He knew him. He had known him.

And now he was gone.

 

* * *

 

Some time later, Delmar remembered his original plan for the day to look for Peter. It seemed morbid now, but the curiosity was too great.

He clicked on his phone, opened the app and unlike before, he was able to figure it out. He searched Peter Parker’s name.

The kid is the first one to pop up. He’s surprised to see they’re already friends but then realizes that must’ve been Carolina’s doing.

 _“You look after him, Rodrigo.”_ Carolina was looking out for him too know, Delmar supposed. Always had, in her way.

He tapped on the profile and suddenly his screen is filled with pictures of the kid.

Delmar didn’t understand a lot about social media – remembers ranting about it once with Peter.

“You kids and your beepers and cellphones and tweeting. You didn’t get to see the real world cause you’re so involved in your phones."

Peter had rolled his eyes saying, “Come on Mr. Delmar, that’s not even how it works. You can learn a lot about people by what they post online.”

“Yeah? What? What they ate today? Who broke up with who?”

Peter laughed.

“Yeah sure, but also like, what they’re interested in. Current events and stuff. It’s important to be informed Mr. Delmar.”

Delmar had laughed him off, waved him out of his shop with a smile.

If Parker was right, then at least he knew this – Peter Parker was loved. And he was missed.

Delmar scrolled through the endless amounts of pictures, some posted by the short kid he recognized that sometimes tagged along with Peter - #3 no cheese and an orange soda – but most were faces he didn’t recognize.

But he didn’t care about the other faces. All he saw was the one.

Peter smiling in front of a museum. In front of Stark Tower. _With_ Tony Stark. Peter with friends at some school thing. A couple of candids of Peter, sleeping in class.

More selfies than Peter had probably ever wanted public.

Delmar doesn’t know how long he’s been scrolling when the tears started to flood his eyes. He didn’t know the kid. He did know the kid. He’s still scrolling when he hears the door unlock.

“Papa, I’m home!”

He lurches off the couch and makes a beeline towards her.

Nadia.

She must see the look on his face, the tears in his eyes because her face transforms into a look so much like her mother.

“Papa what’s wrong?”

He rushes forward and holds her tight.

“Papa, is… are you okay?”

He kisses the top her head, runs his fingers through her hair and lies. “Of course, _mi amor_. A father can’t be happy to see his only daughter?”

He glances down at her and she looks up at him, eyes disbelieving. He tries to smile and she returns it.

“You sure?” God, she’s just like her mother.

“I’m sure, just… thankful you’re okay.” She smiles, her brown eyes wide and bright.

“Of course, I’m okay old man.” She starts to back out of the hug but his grip only tightens, because when he looked into her beautiful brown eyes, he doesn’t see his daughter, doesn’t see Carolina.

He sees another pair of brown eyes.

He holds her tighter, willing himself not to think of another single parent with a brown eyed child.

A parent who had also lost their other half. A parent who was trying their best.

A parent who had buried their child today.

 

* * *

 

Rodrigo Delmar is many things.

A good father. Quick with numbers and easy-going – a jack of all trades.

A widower. A business owner. A Spider-Man fan.

He may not be the smartest man in the galaxy, may not even be the smartest man in Queens – but he does know this.

He knows Peter Parker was good kid. Knows that Peter Parker was loved.

And as he hugs his daughter a little closer, he knows that he’s going to miss him.


	2. Happy

Hit.

Punch.

Hit. Hit.

Punch.

The bag swings and Happy hits it again. Jabs to the left. Jabs to the right.

Hit.

Punch.

Hit. Hit.

Punch.

His phone dings once but he ignores it. He ignores a lot of things these days.

His phone dings again.

Hit.

Punch.

Ding.

Hit. Hit.

Punch.

Ding. Ding. Ding.

“For fuck’s sake.”

Happy takes a glove off and walks over to his bag, to mute his phone. He glances at who the messages are from but part of him doesn’t care. It doesn’t matter anymore.

_The only message I want is yours kid. And you’ll never message me again._

A couple of messages from some journalists. A message from Rhodey. A message from Pepper.

He goes to click the phone off when he gets another ding, this time a news alert.

“A Month Gone, Never Forgotten: City Releases Memorial Plans for the Spider-Man.”

He stares at the phone. He blinks once, then twice.

He slams the phone down, cracking it. Steps on it again for good measure.

He puts the gloves back on.

Hit.

Punch.

Hit. Hit.

Punch.

 

* * *

 

 

It’s been a month since “the Spider-Man” was gone and the city could’ve gone up in flames as much as Happy cared.

Graffiti of the kid was everywhere. No, not the kid. Who the public knew the kid was. Spider-Man. God, he hated the name. It was stupid. A little too much like Iron Man, sounded too much like an adult.

_You were just a kid._

It had become a “thing” now, when celebrities would visit late night talk shows.

They’d advertise what they were there for and inevitably, they’d bring up their remembrance of Spider-Man.

They’d reference their kids, their personal love of the guy, or even – if they were local – their own encounter with him.

Happy couldn’t remember a time when people spoke so fondly of a glorified vigilante.

_You were so much more than that._

 There were few things off limits to the talking heads, fewer things still for the Saturday night crowd.

 The Avengers had been criticized, made fun of, joked about for the past half-decade.

Happy couldn’t even begin to count how many times Tony’s shit made the airwaves.

But the death of Spider-Man –  _the kid, you were just a kid_  – was untouchable.

One comic tried to make a joke of it, two weeks after the news broke.

Though Happy didn’t pay much attention to social media, he knew the backlash was swift. Instantaneous. He hadn’t seen someone backtrack so hard, for so many to call for the firing of someone criticizing a hero.

Because that’s what Spider-Man –  _Peter_ – had been.

A hero.          

 

* * *

 

                                     

Hit.

Punch.

Hit. Hit.

Punch.

An annoyed Pepper sent him a new StarkPhone. Happy almost threw it out.

He didn’t anyone have anyone to report to anymore. Had no one to report about.

 _I listened to every voicemail, kid_.

But Pepper – in all her wisdom and forcefulness – had put Happy in charge of something.

“You have to do something, Happy.”

“I don’t have to do shit, Pepper.” He growled then stopped himself.

He glanced at Pepper, her eyes swimming tears – a fierce expression on her face.

She was barely holding it together.

So was he.

So was everyone.

 _Look at what you did to us, kid_.

“The city is planning something for Spider-Man. There’s too much on my plate right now with the company and Tony…” She trailed off.

Happy didn’t need her to finish that statement. He knew. They all knew.

“What you got in mind?” He answered gruffly. Happy was never a man of many words but now, even more so, it felt like fire coming out.

“I don’t know what they’re planning but I do know they-they want some help. Something… tangible. They didn’t know Spider-Man, they didn’t know… who he was—“

“I’m not going to reveal the kid’s identity, Pep.”

Pepper’s eyes grew wide. Her voice sharp. “Of course not, Happy. No. Never. That’s not… that’s not what he wanted.” She winced and so did Happy, as they all did. Talking about him in the past tense.

 _There’s no future for the dead_.

“But I think he’d want someone who knew him in this. Someone who… someone who could help the city grieve.”

Happy was silent as she continued.

“I can’t ask this of May without risking his identity. I can’t ask this of anyone—“ she waves generally to the tower they’re in – “cause they didn’t know him. Not really.”

“Not like me.”

Pepper nods, appearing grateful she doesn’t have to continue.

Happy considers it for a second, maybe a minute. Maybe longer.

Pepper is patient. She waits. She has to know this is a lot to ask of him.

But she’s right. He hasn’t been doing anything. Not really.

_You were the highlight of my day._

“I’ll do it.”

“Thank you Happy.”

 

* * *

 

He storms out of the meeting and grabs his gym bag.

Fifteen minutes later when he sees the call from Pepper, he almost declines it. But he reconsiders.

“Hogan.”

“Happy, you can’t keep walking out on them.”

It had been a few weeks since had agreed to help, two months since the kid was gone.

“I couldn’t sit and listen for another minute, Pepper.”

“Happy, I know it’s frustrating but they’re tryi—”

“They’re assholes, Pep. All of them. I couldn’t stand another minute of them, going on and on about Spider-Man as if they looked up to him. As if they  _liked_  him. Do you know how much shit they gave the kid when he was alive?”

Pepper was silent. But if she had anything to say, Happy wouldn’t have heard her.

“They’re PRAISING him, Pep. Singing their hearts out about ‘Spider-Man’ did this, and ‘Spider-Man’ did that” He growled, shaking as he clutched the phone.

As he stormed into the gym, bag in hand and phone in the other, he closed his eyes and took a breath.

“All the kid wanted was for them to respect him. To think of him as an equal. And they never did Pep. You know who was there? Jameson. Of all the damn people the city could even think to be in the room, fucking JAMESON!?”

“Happy, I—”

“I can’t do it anymore, Pepper. I can’t. The minute the city decided that J. Jonah FUCKING Jameson was good enough to be on this committee was the minute I realized none of them have any fucking idea of what Spider-Man stood for.”

He huffed, out of breath. He hadn’t yelled this much since the first day. Hadn’t bothered to speak his mind when there was no one to listen to him.

“But you did.”

He gripped the phone.

Pepper continued. “You did, Hap. You knew Spider-Man. You knew him better than any single person in that room. Better than any of them could’ve ever  _dreamed_  of knowing.”

Happy closed his eyes and fought back the wave of grief. It was unbearable.

“He’s not here to defend himself anymore, Pepper.”

Quiet. Patient. Always calm.

“That’s why you have to.”

He ended the call, not bothering to say goodbye. Pepper understood. Used to it, by now he was sure.

He dropped the phone on the bench, grabbed his gloves and walked to the bag.

Hit.

Punch.

Hit. Hit.

Punch.

 

* * *

 

The bullshit with the memorial doesn’t get any easier. But Happy still goes anyway.

His attention wanders during the meetings, especially on Fridays. Always on Fridays.

Half the time the group is antsy, ready to settle on the details so they’re off for their weekend plans.

But Happy’s mind is elsewhere. Instinctually, he still checks his phone at 4pm – waiting for a text from the kid. For a summary of the week. An emoji. A damn reaction meme. Something.

But there’s nothing. There’s always nothing.

 _I loved the texts, kid. Even the annoying ones_.

…

 _You were never annoying_.

Hit.

Punch.

Hit. Hit.

Punch.

 

* * *

 

The damn committee finally agreed on something. They had run through the gamut – a shrine, a mural somewhere in the Bronx, a permanent fixture on a landmark… till they finally settled on a small monument in Central Park.

It wouldn’t have been Happy’s first choice. He – and surprisingly, a couple of others agreed – argued that Spider-Man was a local hero. A Queens hero.

His memorial should be in Queens.

But smarter (i.e. richer) heads prevailed.

Spider-Man may have lived as a local hero.

But he had died an international one.

_Looking out for the little guy made you famous, kid. I know that’s not why you did it. But I think you’d get a kick out of that anyway._

Now they were finetuning the details of the plaque to go on the memorial. And it felt like they were back to square one all over again.

Happy rolled his eyes as some mayor’s assistant got choked up, talking about her kid’s love for Spider-Man.

“I just tell him that he—he was so brave. So brave. And honorable. So good. Such a-such a good man. I feel like that should be put in there.”

_You were brave. Honorable. The best among them._

_But you weren’t a man. You were sixteen._

The chief of police murmured in agreement. “Yeah something definitely about his bravery. I saw Spider-Man jump straight into a burning building once.”

His breath catches. “I wish I had told him thank you.”

It was at this point in the meeting that Happy knew the rest would be pointless.

This always happened in these damn meetings. Someone – usually Carol, the bitch from the mayor’s office who he  _knew_  had sent cease and desist letters to the kid not three months before he died – bringing up some sob story about Spider-Man.

And then rest of them would commiserate, leading to a cry fest that Happy didn’t want to be a part of.

As he got up to leave – quietly, not in a rush so Pepper didn’t receive  _another_  angry phone call – he wondered why this bothered him so much.

The crying.

The carrying on.

Was it the hypocrisy? The audacity of these people –  _the very same people who hated you_ – mourning over someone they didn’t even know?

Or was it the worst part?

The part that no matter how much hard he hit, no matter how many times he punched, that he couldn’t face it.

That Happy had known the kid. Known who was behind the mask.

Had been there when May came to see him. When the room was cold and silent, filled only with the inconsolable sobs of a woman who had lost everything.

He had seen the kid at his worst. At his best.

Had watched as they had lowered him into the ground.

And yet, listening to these people – Happy couldn’t shake the shame and anger he felt.

Because Happy hadn’t cried at all.

* * *

 

 

His therapist told him he was repressing his emotions.

He told his therapist to fuck off.

Hit.

Punch.

Hit. Hit.

Punch.

 

* * *

 

Logically, rationally, he knew his therapist was right.

He’d had the therapist for years, gotten one on the payroll when they thought Tony was dead in Afghanistan.

_I thought I knew loss, kid. I didn’t know shit._

When Tony came back, he almost let the therapist go. But he’d grown comfortable with the man. Gotten used to talking his feelings out with someone who didn’t give a shit about him personally.

Maybe some people thought it weird. Happy felt relieved.

Dr. Mark didn’t care if he hurt his feelings. Didn’t bat an eye when Happy cursed him out, yelling profanities he wouldn’t dare speak to anyone else.

Dr. Mark was firm as ever. Truthful. To the point.

Happy was thankful for the man. Felt like he could tell him anything.

_How do I even begin to describe the loss of you, kid?_

 

* * *

 

 

Hit.

Punch.

Hit. Hit.

Punch.

 

* * *

 

 

“You’ve been at the gym more times in the past three months than you have in the past three years, Hogan.”

“Yeah doc, I don’t think that’s something you should complain about.” Happy sighed, closing his eyes and rubbing a hand over his face. “Six months ago, you said I was putting on some weight.”

“That was six months ago.”

Happy glanced over at the man.

Dr. Mark was quiet, scribbling something in his notepad.

He’d once asked Tony to hack into Dr. Mark’s files to see what he had written about him. Tony obliged, because fuck it – he was Tony Stark – only to come up empty.

Apparently, Dr. Mark was old fashioned. Didn’t type up his notes.

He’d gotten curious over the years at what Dr. Mark had to say, over the shit Happy had had to deal with.

A man with electric whips. A fake terrorist. A hidden assassin. A psychotic AI, hellbent on world destruction. A government organization that almost succeeded.

Happy wasn’t part of the Avengers. Wasn’t a part of SHIELD – (Hydra? Fuck if he knew) – but he was Iron Man’s right-hand man. He’d been through some shit. 

Well, maybe left-hand man. Rhodey rightfully took the best friend spot.

Then Pepper.

Then maybe Happy.

_But you were before all of us._

But Happy hadn’t talked with Tony in ages. He mused about how long it had been, wondering to himself if Tony even noticed.

He doubted it.

“So, you haven’t heard from Stark lately?”

Happy’s eyes snapped open. Shit, did he say that out loud? But the doctor didn’t even notice his surprise, still jotting down something on that damn notepad.

“Wha- uh, what makes you say that doc?”

“Pepper mentioned it.” For the first time, he glances up. Dr. Mark’s face is clear, emotionless. How he managed to be so stoic with all of the shit he’s heard was beyond him.

“Pepper doesn’t know everything.”

“So she’s wrong?”

Happy looked to the clock. Another fifteen minutes of his session. He could leave. He was never obligated to stay.

But he stayed anyway.

“…no.”

Dr. Mark nodded, scribbled something else, then put the pen down.

“You’re not coping well, Hogan.”

“Shit, don’t I know it.” Happy closed his eyes but the tap of the pen made his eyes snap open.

“I’m serious, Hogan. I’ve seen you go through worse. Seen you at the bottom, have talked you off the ledges of many cliffs—”

“I don’t think you’re supposed to bring that back up, doc. I gotta say it feels unprofessional.”

Dr. Mark continued. “Despite all of this—this rage, this anger that you’re feeling.”

Happy was surprised at what came next, the feeling he heard in Dr. Mark’s voice.

“I’ve never seen you like this.”

 

* * *

 

 

Hit.

Punch.

Hit. Hit.

Punch.

Hit.

Punch.

Hit. Hit.

Punch.

 

* * *

 

 

He does end up talking to Tony again. The next week actually.

Four months of radio silence. Four months of not knowing what to say. Knowing there was nothing to say.

_What can we talk about now kid, when the best thing we shared was you?_

He sees Pepper’s name come up on the screen and answers it without a second thought.

“I wasn’t the only one who walked out today, Pep. Jameson gave some bullshit remark about the cost and half the committee left.”

It was true. There had been some discussion on who should pay for the memorial. No one wanted the taxpayers to be burdened for it, except Happy.

_They could pay millions and it wouldn’t bring you back._

It didn’t help that the city kept getting donations for it anyway.

It had been decided that the donations – both from the city and from around the world – would pay for the overall costs when Jameson remarked that maybe some should be kept for the journalists covering the event.

Of course, even in death, the asshat couldn’t help but try and bring Spider-Man down. Give some glory to himself.

 _I know you saw the good in people kid, but I don’t know you would’ve spun that_.

What he hears – instead of Pepper – is Tony. Short. To the point.

“Who needs money? I’ll send it.”

Happy shouldn’t have been shocked at the gruffness in his voice, the lilt he hadn’t heard in years.

It was Tony.

And he had been drinking.

“How’d you get Pepper’s phone?”

“She’s my fucking fiancé – what’s mine is yours and hers is mine.” Tony slurred.

Shit. If Tony was slurring, that meant he had too much to drink. For a recovering alcoholic, any drink was too much.

Happy knew super-enhanced beings. Was friendly acquaintances with a thunder god. And yet he considered Tony’s alcohol tolerance higher than anyone he had ever met.

If Tony was slurring, he was beyond trashed.

He was dangerous.

“Tony, where’s Pepper?”

“Does it matter? Does it fucking matter? Does anything fucking matter anymore?”

Tony seemed to be talking to himself, forgetting that he was even on the phone.

“Tony, tell me where Pepper is.” Happy tried to wipe the sweat off his face but the glove was in his way. Damn glove. He struggled to take it off while Tony continued to stammer.

_Like you, kid. You always wanted to be just like him. You couldn’t have known that we all wanted to live up to you._

“Fuck if I know. I tried to tell her, tried to…” He could hear Tony hiccup and then a gasp of pain. Happy closed his eyes, feeling guilty.

He hadn’t been there for Tony. He knew how destructive he was. Knew how much shit he had put Pepper through, put him through.

Happy was consumed by his own grief, every waking minute of the last four months a living hell. He couldn’t drink his morning coffee, couldn’t open up his phone, couldn’t even fucking go to his fucking therapist without the memory of the kid, the kid he had lost.

_How do I mourn you kid, when you weren’t even mine?_

But Happy knew – almost as good as Pepper, as Rhodey – that Tony was in no way capable of taking care of himself. In no way capable of dealing.

Happy was shit at coping with things. Shit at coping with this—this unfathomable loss.

But he knew Tony was worse.

“Tony, I’m going to ask again. Where is Pepper?”

It was quiet, to the point where Happy almost thought he hung up until he finally heard the small, drunken voice say the words that hit Happy at his core.

“I couldn’t save him.”

 

* * *

 

 

Hit.

Punch.

Hit. Hit.

Punch.

Hit.

Punch.

Hit. Hit.

Punch.

Hit.

Punch.

Hit. Hit.

Punch.

Hit.

Punch.

Hit. Hit.

Punch.

 

* * *

 

 

Pepper called him later that day, and a few times after that.

Happy let it go to voicemail. Didn’t listen to any of them but the last one.

“I got him, Happy. He’s fine. Take care of yourself. I’ll see you in a few days.”

 

* * *

 

 

Hit.

Punch.

Hit. Hit.

Punch.

 

* * *

 

 

He started to talk to Tony more after that.

Short. To the point. Nothing like before.

_It’ll never be the same without you._

Happy didn’t care.

Not that he didn’t care about Tony, he told Dr. Mark. He cared about Tony. They’d been through too much.

“So it’s just longevity that keeps you in contact with him?”

“No. He pays well too.”

Dr. Mark gives a look that Happy would argue is almost judgmental, until Dr. Mark changes tactics.

“How do your conversations usually go?”

Fine. Quick.

Happy doesn’t care.

He’d been through some serious shit with Tony. Seem him go through the very worst of humanity – the universe, really – but couldn’t bring himself to care about the depth of their conversations now.

Any good part of Tony died with the kid.

Happy was sure that he felt the same way.

 

* * *

 

 

Hit.

Punch.

Hit. Hit.

Punch.

 

* * *

 

 

Five months later and the memorial is finally complete. It surprises Happy how quickly it got made, especially when it seemed the process to get there took ages.

Five months without Spider-Man.

Five months without the kid.

He had a statue in Central Park, memorializing him forever at sixteen.

And of fucking course, the memorial would come up the day after he would’ve been seventeen.

_You mentioned Parker luck once. Was this it, kid? Is this what it felt like?_

Happy didn’t go to the unveiling.

He was invited of course, not just because of his role on the committee but as a stand-in for Stark Industries.

Tony was in no shape to go. Pepper and Rhodey didn’t trust him to be alone for a second.

He should’ve gone. But he couldn’t.

He’d spent months with these people as they cried on and on about Spider-Man to each other. He couldn’t bear to hear their lies in front of people.

But Happy did go to the memorial. In the late afternoon.

Around the same time the kid would text him. The same time of day that Happy still – months later, instinctually – would reach for his phone.

His hands shook, and he willed himself to calm down.

Dr. Mark had recommended him to stop hitting the gym so hard. Both literally and figuratively.

Rationally, he understood why. Emotionally, he wasn’t there yet.

He felt stronger. Stronger than he had felt in years.

As he walked up to the memorial, he noticed the flowers still surrounding it. The drawings, the pictures, the candles.

This had to have been a fire hazard but clearly, no one cared.

The statue was comically large, maybe funny only to Happy because he had actually known how tall Peter was.

The committee knew Happy had had a personal connection with Spider-Man. But when pressed for details, Happy just glared.

It’s his own fault for not speaking up.

Happy tilted his head.

The statue had the likeness of Spider-Man well enough. Maybe not as creative as the graffiti he’d pass while driving, but it was standard. Formal.

_Not bad, kid._

Spider-Man was in a forward stance, one hand reaching up, his head pointed towards the sky.

 

 

IN HONOR OF THE FRIENDLY NEIGHBORHOOD SPIDER-MAN

MAY WE LOOK AFTER EACH OTHER, AS YOU LOOKED AFTER US

It wasn’t the worst idea they had come up with. But Happy could think of better.

He sat on a park bench, staring at the memorial. His muscles aching for the first time in months.

He’d made such a habit of pushing himself, he never gave his body a chance to recover. Now, two days without hitting a bag, the soreness was catching up with him.

The soreness reminds him of a different soreness he felt, not too long ago. He winces at the memory but doesn’t try and reroute it.

Dr. Mark said it was good to remember. It would help feel again. Help him heal. Move on.

 

* * *

 

 

A few weeks before the end of life as they knew it, Happy had trained with the kid.

He was out of shape. Had been out of shape for years.

But Tony had the bright idea of putting Happy in the ring with the kid, arguing that if the kid didn’t learn how to fight normal people properly – he’d be at risk of seriously hurting someone.

The kid blanched, arguing that he couldn’t even pretend hit Happy. Happy glowered, almost offended that Tony would think Peter could take him down.

But he could. Happy knew how strong the kid was. He just resented that it had to be out in the open.

Once Happy made it clear that he was game, the kid turned from hesitant to eager.

A little too eager.

_WHACK._

One solid kick to the chest and Happy went down. The wind got knocked out of him, but he could still see the kid, frantic –yelling in his face.

“I’m so sorry, Happy! Are you okay? Are you dead? Please don’t be dead. I shouldn’t have hit you—I told you Mr. Stark, I can’t do this!”

“You’re fine, kid.” Happy wheezed.

He glanced over to Tony who – in the split second after checking vitals to see if Happy was actually okay – had started laughing.

“Really, I’m so sorry. I knew this was a—a bad idea and I didn’t mean to—”

He cut him off. “I’m fine, Peter. I promise. Just caught me off guard. I’m out of breath, I’ll be fine.”

“Out of shape is more like it, shit Hogan have you worked out at all in the past year?” Tony grinned.

“Fuck off, Tony.”

“Hey hey, no swearing in front of the fetus. We’re grooming him for bigger and better things.”

“Mr. Stark, you know I’m from Queens right?”

“Shut up, kid. Don’t taint my picture perfect idea of you and your innocence. Now get up Hogan, it’s time for the next round.”

Happy had laughed, let Peter help him up and then got back into a defensive stance.

He went down a couple more times, but never as hard as the first time.

The kid didn’t want to hurt him again. He was trying to protect him.

_We should’ve protected you._

  

* * *

 

As he dropped the kid off, Peter had turned around again to apologize – something Happy knew was coming and couldn’t try and stop.

“I’m really sorry again, Hap. I didn’t mean to hit you so hard.”

Happy sighed. “I know you didn’t kid, but if you keep apologizing – I promise I’ll hit  _you_  harder next time.”

Peter’s face went from apologetic to a smirk before saying, “IF you can actually hit me next time.”

“You little shit.” Happy had laughed, waving him off. He turned down the window as Peter walked towards his apartment.

“You know, I had a great time with you, Happy. Even if I laid you out on your ass on the first go.”

Happy rolled his eyes. “Trust me kid, I’ve been through worse. It’s gonna take a lot more than a nearly indestructible teenager to take me out.”

Peter smiled, a full faced-grin that thinking back, the memory of it would take Happy’s breath away. It hadn’t been the last time he ever saw him. Hadn’t been the last time they ever spoke.

But as Peter beamed back at him, it’s the smile he remembered the most.

Cause Happy had lied that day. Hadn’t realized it at the time.

_You weren’t indestructible, Pete. You’re gone._

And Happy was sure the pain of that loss was going to be the end of him.

 

* * *

 

 

He’s thrown out of his memory with the chatter of some kids in the park. Spider-Man was a hero to all of Queens, to New York, to the world now.

But he was especially a hero to kids.

He watches silently as the gaggle of children look up at the memorial. Feels his breath hitch as he sees a kid, decked out in Spider-Man gear, take off her mask and lay it at the feet of the memorial.

Happy hadn’t cried in over five months. Had seen the worst of life that it had to offer and then some.

But this kid and her friends. It shatters something in Happy.

Spider-Man wasn’t a man at all.

He was a kid.

These kids’ hero was only a few years older than him.

He would’ve been seventeen yesterday.

Would’ve started his senior year this month.

Would’ve applied for college. Would’ve graduated.

Would’ve gotten married.

But he wouldn’t any of that now.

Wouldn’t do anything.

Would never see these kids look up to him.

 _You’ll never have kids of your own_.

 

* * *

 

 

For the first time in five months, Happy cries.

 

* * *

 

 

And then, once the sun is set and Happy is feeling dehydrated—spent from the loss and the ache, he looks up at the statue and loses it all over again.

He had promised Dr. Mark that he would take it easy. Promised himself that when he finally cried, maybe that meant he was moving on.

But as he looks up the statue, tears streaming down his face, he knows he’ll never move  _on_ , only forward. Stuck getting older while Peter never aged.

Happy gets into his car and drives to the tower.

He stops for a minute, looking up at the skyline. Wishing, hoping—for something he’ll never see again.

“I miss you, Peter.”  

Happy takes his gym bag out and walks with purpose.

Hit.

Punch.

Hit. Hit.

Punch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm kind of working through the five stages of grief with each chapter. It's not a perfect analogy (and real-life grief doesn't work linearly, hardly ever fits into a box) but if you're interested in where this is going, that should give you a good idea. 
> 
> And don't worry, Fictional!Happy is not a danger to himself. He's just hurting. 
> 
> Wouldn't we all be?


	3. MJ

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I said it would be a few days. 
> 
> I lied. 
> 
> I wrote Tony's chapter last night and made myself cry so now you all have to CRY WITH ME.

He comes out of nowhere.

One second Michelle is catching up on her emails, noting which one needs immediate responses and others that she can ignore, for now at least – didn’t anyone know how to google shit anymore? – when the kid slams into her, throwing her off balance and on to the ground.

“I’m SO sorry!” The kid exclaims, Michelle hearing the panic in his voice.

It’s nice to know she still strikes fear into people’s hearts.

She hadn’t lashed out to anybody in months. Could give you the exact date when the bite and venom in her system had left.

But no one had known that was the case. And she wasn’t about to undo years of building up her reputation building for nothing.

_Not nothing. Never nothing. God, I miss you Peter._

“You’re fine, kid. Calm down.” Michelle brushes herself off, reaches out for her cellphone but the kid is already ahead of her.

“I just—I wasn’t looking where I was going. I’m pretty I’m sure I’m late for chem class and Ms. Martinez said she was gonna dock my grade if I’m late again and oh man, I’m so late, I’m late and I’ll never be able to raise that back up.”

Michelle felt herself stop breathing, glanced up at the kid in a panic.

It wasn’t him. It couldn’t be him. But he _sounded_ just like him, all nerves and stammering and rushing off to things.

“I’m fine, I’m fine.” She pushed herself off the ground and reached for the phone the kid had in his hand. She looked at the kid again, really looked.

Blonde hair, dirty blonde her sister would say. A wide face, a nose too smushed together.

Michelle released a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

It wasn’t Peter. It couldn’t be Peter. Would never be Peter.

But then as the kid opened up his mouth again, no doubt clamoring to apologize again, Michelle felt her throat restrict, a sob building before she could stop it.

He had brown eyes.

Just like Peter’s.

* * *

 

Michelle had been sure of a lot of things in her life.

Her stance on capitalism. Her passion for justice.

Her embarrassing crush on Peter Parker.

But what she wasn’t sure of was death. The afterlife. What comes next. 

* * *

Ned had been raised Catholic.

Peter had been to church a few times, mostly for funerals.

But Michelle’s family had no religion. No faith. No tradition.

They weren’t against it. Her sister dated a Jewish boy a few years back which meant Michelle got some kickass gifts for both Christmas _and_ Hanukkah.

But aside from that, no religion. No faith. No tradition.

Her parents had argued that they were educated and intelligent people, her mom always quick to note that just because someone was religious, doesn't mean that they were stupid.

Her father would then say, “True – but it’s always good to have a little healthy skepticism.”

Michelle had carried that notion throughout the years. And to be honest, it hadn’t failed her yet.

* * *

 

That didn't mean that she still wasn't curious. Still didn't ask questions. 

She listened to Ned as he described mass and confessionals, argued with him about the history of the Catholic church.

“It’s corrupt, Leeds.”

“Everything is corrupt to you, MJ.”

“Ok but this is different – and we have verifiable evidence to show – that they’re corrupt. Back me up on this Parker.”

Peter had put his hands up. “No way, MJ. That’s between you and Ned.”

Michelle glared at him. They were in Peter’s bedroom -- Peter sprawled out on the top bunk, Ned glancing up from the bottom while Michelle sat at his desk.

She didn’t know how the dorks focused while studying in bed. She inevitably fell asleep anytime she had tried it.

“You telling me you – Peter Benjamin Parker, the guy who has something smart to say every time he opens up his damn mouth – have nothing to add?”

Parker gave a shit-eating grin.

“Sure I do. It’s just funnier to watch you guys fight.”

Ned punched up from the bottom bunk and Peter laughed. The argument over before it even started.

It wasn’t that she wanted to argue with Ned. She didn’t even fully believe her own point. Sure, the Catholic church had a lot of failings. But as Ned pointed out, those failings were with people. Not God. 

And like her mom said, Ned was a smart guy. Went to the same school. Interested in the same nerdy shit as Peter.

Ned had faith. That even when he didn’t know the answers to the questions Michelle lobbed at him, he didn’t care.

She was just curious.

“That’s what faith _is_ , Michelle. Trusting that even when you don’t understand, something good can come out of the bad.”

“But what abou—”

“Look I don’t have all the answers and I don’t even think I’m the most qualified person to even give you them to begin with, but I just know this.”

He puts down his pencil.

“I can’t understand God anymore than the pancake I had for breakfast can understand me. And I’m not saying that as a cop out or like you can’t _know_ God but like… there’s just some things that are beyond me, you know? And I’m okay with that.”

Michelle watched as Ned looked up at her then went back to their calc homework. She glanced up to Peter, clearly listening but willing himself to stay neutral – waiting to see where she was going to take this next.

“Alright Leeds.”

That had been the end of the conversation. But it hadn’t been the end of her questioning.

Michelle was confident of many things in her life. Took pride in how sure of herself she was, when so many of her peers weren’t.

But she didn’t have faith.

Not like Leeds.

But what bothered her most, is that she didn’t know what Parker believed. 

* * *

 

She saw the kid again.

The blonde Not-Peter.

She had to get his name cause calling him Not-Peter was driving her crazy.

She meant to grab him on his way to class, almost reached out a hand to stop him but then thought better of it.

“You good, Michelle?” Her friend Nina asked. Michelle glanced at her then realized her hand was still outstretched.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Anyway, then what happened?”

“Oh, you wouldn’t believe it. So we went down to Brooklyn cause Flash was giving some bullshit reason for why he couldn’t come out when—” Michelle tuned her out.

She didn’t actually care what Nina had to say. Didn’t care about the story Flash had undoubtedly told them, and the hijinks that probably ensued.

But it was good for her. The talking. The joking. The laughing.

A year ago, she hung out with two nerds and two nerds only. An odd trio that even then, she dearly loved.

Eight months ago, that trio had shattered.

And while she still hung out with Ned – _I’ll never give up on him Peter_ – she knew for her own sanity, she had to surround herself with others.

The menial. The stupid. None of her conversations were intelligent.

But they were conversations. They filled the day.

And when you’re in high school, and when your best friend is gone, sometimes the only thing you can do is just get through the day.

* * *

 

Camden.

That was the kids name. She overheard one of his friends yell it out to him as they frantically – why were they always frantic? – ran off to some part of class.

It comforted Michelle to know that.

She didn’t know a lot of things anymore.

She still considered herself a smart person. Still near the top of her class.

Still thankful in some kind of morbid and sick way that Peter had died at the end of their junior year – after they had already taken their final exams – cause once Peter had died, she had felt dead to the world and everyone in it.

_Am I a sick person for thinking that Peter?_

_Am I terrible?_ _Am I awful?_

_I feel like I am._

_Do you even care? Can you even hear me?_

She didn’t trust herself anymore. Didn’t trust her gut like she used to.

She had convinced herself the kid’s name was Peter. Or Patrick. Something with P.

To hear that it was _Camden_ , a name wholly unrelated to the boy he looked nothing like – _except for the eyes, those damn eyes_ – comforted her.

Her nerd was gone. Camden wasn’t him.

But she still found herself glancing down the hallway, willing Peter’s bouncy walk back into existence.

Michelle didn’t have a faith, but she wondered if she believed in reincarnation.

* * *

 

Her and Ned still had lunch every day.

The silence was sometimes unbearable. Sometimes it was welcome.

Either way, it was together. Always together.

Being seniors, they probably could’ve goofed off – had talked about doing as much last year, before.

But that was before.

Michelle didn’t have the heart to go to lunch anywhere Peter couldn’t. She thought Ned might feel the same, if he felt anything at all these days.

They ate their lunch in silence. Then the bell rang.

* * *

 

College applications were fucking terrible.

“You better be glad you’re dead, Parker because if you weren’t, I’d kill you for not helping me with this essay.”

Michelle was in her own room, window open, looking out at the city. It was noisy and the city ambience annoyed her, but she couldn’t bear the silence when she was alone.

Cause when she was alone and it was quiet, it felt too much like the day Peter died.

Since she couldn’t be surrounded by people all the time, she had taken to talking to Peter out loud. If he was out there – wherever he was, if there even _was_ an out there – she hoped he was listening.

“Harvard or Columbia? What do you think?”

…

“Yeah Columbia’s closer and getting into Harvard is just a bullshit rich people numbers game anyway, but wouldn’t that just be the most ironic thing? The best thing?”

…

“You’re right. Fuck it, I’m doing both.”

* * *

 

She should’ve felt antsy waiting for her results. She had thought about applying Early Decision to some places, then second-guessed herself to the point where she was finally in the Regular Decision pool.

It was so unlike her. Indecisive. Questioning herself.

But she didn’t know anymore. Wasn’t sure.

It didn’t matter.

She got into them all.

It was around spring break, the time when most of the seniors in her class had either heard the news or were still waiting.

Email after email poured in.

Congratulations!

Welcome to the class of 2023!

We look forward to seeing you!

She should feel happy. Thrilled. And she was on some level. But all her thoughts were currently focused on the boy next to her, the one holding his phone, shaking.

Ned Leeds had applied to only one school. Despite Michelle’s pleading, his mother’s prayers, and many exasperated teachers.

Ned Leeds had applied to only one, the only one that had mattered to him. To Peter.

And today was decision day.

“Well?”

Ned gave her a look then turned his attention back to his phone.

“It’s loading.”

They were quiet for a minute. The bell long rung and the cafeteria filtering out. They’d be late for class but neither of them cared.

Neither did the teachers.

They had cut them both a lot of slack, more so than any other kid.

And everyone else left them alone. Even Flash – arrogant, bull-headed Flash Thompson – lost his fire for ridicule.

She heard the whispers from the freshman, the rumors going around about the two sad seniors. About the senior they'd lost. About the trio that had been irreparably broken. But Michelle had never cared for rumors. Never cared to listen to them. She used to make it a point of stopping them, preventing the criticisms and lies and gossip that inevitably spread around their school when a kid with an overactive imagination decided to tell a story. 

But had lost her fire to criticize too. 

She'd never mentioned it. Wondered if anyone even noticed.

Especially her vapid friends, the shallow ones who talked about boyfriends and hookups and dating.

It’s not that she didn’t care about all of that. Not that she wasn’t interested.

But the chase had only been fun with a boy named Peter. Who had looked at her with a smile that had filled Michelle with the kind of stupid joy she had only read in novels before.

Peter was dead now.

But Michelle wasn’t dead. She felt alive. She felt cautiously optimistic. Like she still had a life out there for her to live.

_Did you think that too, Peter?_

But the fight. The bite in her words had vanished.

* * *

 

Michelle wouldn’t say it was because she wasn’t really passionate or committed to her causes, couldn’t even try and pass it off as teenage angst.

She cared about the world. She cared about the people in it.

But before… before she masked that pain, that hurt for the people she had felt to be the most vulnerable under a layer of sarcasm and wit.

The old Michelle though – knowing fully how _wrong_ this thinking was yet couldn’t shake it off of herself – that being kind meant being weak and being weak was for girls much shallower and sillier than she.

The old Michelle didn’t get along with Flash not just because he was arrogant. But because she was arrogant too.

_I used to think being soft meant being weak until I met you, Peter. Now I now it’s the opposite._

_You were soft. Kind. Gentle._

_You were never weak._

* * *

 

Ned’s mouth drops open, gaping like a fish.

The old Michelle would’ve snapped at him, grabbed the phone out of his hand.

Maybe even six months ago Michelle would’ve said something sarcastic. Commented that she couldn’t tell if that was a positive or negative and if it was positive, he needed to work on his happy face.

But it had been 11 months, 12 days, and 8 hours since Peter had died. Since the old Michelle had died along with him.  

So she waited.

Ned took a few minutes to compose himself.

“I got in.”

* * *

 

They graduated. It was a whole thing.

Michelle was valedictorian. She gave a speech. It was nice, she thinks. Some people cried.

She talked about Peter.

Probably more than what was appropriate for a happy graduation speech. But Michelle didn’t care.

Not in the old Michelle way, not to be mean.

She just didn’t care if people were offended.

Peter was her friend. He should’ve been there.

She wanted to celebrate him too.

* * *

 

Her and Ned had a joint party. They had talked too much about what they had all wanted for a party together.

Back when Michelle was still angsty and Ned was still overly talkative.

Peter had been quiet when planning the party. Or more the idea of a party. You can’t logistically plan for something over a year away, but it was nice to dream about. The party. The future. The rest of their lives.

_If we only knew._

“What you thinking about dork squad?”

Peter, lost in thought, snapped his head back up at her. Ned had gone into the kitchen, claiming he was about to make “the queso of a lifetime” so Michelle had a couple minutes alone with Peter.

He was quieter than normal, had been for weeks. It bothered her. She liked knowing what he was thinking. Like knowing more than anyone else in the room.

“Nothing much, MJ. Just… you ever think about what happens after all of this?”

She rolled her eyes. “We literally just covered this, Parker. After the party, we’re going to paint the town red as much as we’re legally able to. Shit, you could probably ask Stark to give us a credit card and the idiot would give one to you—no strings attached.”

Peter smiled softly and while Michelle was grinning, she noticed his smile didn’t reach his eyes.

“That’s not what you meant.”

“No.”

Michelle was quiet. This was getting to the uncomfortable part. The unknowable. The type of conversation she shied away from.

But it was Peter. She could talk about anything with him.

“So what did you mean?”

Peter looked up at her, looking much older than sixteen.

“I mean what happens when we die. Not just—you know, the dying part but like, after. The after. When we’re gone, you know?”

Michelle nodded but stayed uncharacteristically silent. There wasn’t much that she didn’t have an opinion about – all well informed and articulate – but Peter had waltzed right into the one topic she didn’t dare comment on.

Especially when she was burning to know what Peter thought.

“I’ve just been thinking about it a lot lately. Not to be morbid, I’m not—I’m not like a danger to myself or anything.” He put his hands up defensively.

Michelle would’ve laughed if he hadn’t looked so serious.

“I just… you know I think a lot about life and what it means. What all this shit even matters for. Again – not cause I’m thinking of ending it all or anything – but just, it all just seems so arbitrary, you know? So random.”

He continued.

“I’ve seen a lot of shit in my life. Had a lot of a bad stuff happen for no reason. And I know we joke that it’s just my ‘Parker luck’, but sometimes I wonder if I did something bad in a past life. Or if that doesn’t exist, like I did something cosmically wrong that the universe is trying to make right. Life can be so unfair... but then what is fairness anyway, you know? What I've been through sucks, but then there are people out there who've been through so much worse. Is that all it is? One bad thing to another, and then... nothing?"

Michelle’s silent. Waiting. Peter goes on.

“Or maybe it’s not like that at all. I mean, Ned’s been my best friend since we were seven. I’ve been to church with him before, been to more funerals than a sixteen-year-old ever should be.”

He laughs, but there’s no humor in it. Michelle’s still quiet.

“I know what he believes. And I know that you think it’s bullshit.”

She goes to open her mouth, but he stops her.

“I know you don’t think it’s total bull, but for the most part—you’re skeptical. Curious. Your parents raised you that way and that’s just how you see things and I get it—that’s fine. I’m not judging you for it.”

“But I don’t know. Sometimes… sometimes I think Ned has it more right than wrong.”

Michelle finally speaks up.

“So you believe in God?”

Peter thinks about it for a minute.

“I don’t know. I mean, if He exists then I’ve been dealt a pretty shitty hand and that just seems like a terrible introduction to an all-knowing deity.”

Michelle waits, knowing he isn’t finished.

“But then again, I’ve seen some really beautiful things. Have been in and have gotten out of some situations that should have never been possible. Seen people at their lowest and _still_ get back up. Miraculous, you know? And I think, even with all the bad shit, maybe… maybe He is out there. Maybe it’s like Ned says and it's just not as black and white as make it out to be. Maybe… there’s more to it than this.” He waves around the room.

“Cause if there isn’t, that seems so… bleak.” He looks winded at the thought of that. Michelle tries to speak up again but he stops her.

“I know I keep interrupting you but hear me out. I’m not saying that a negative means there has to be a positive, I know the fallacies – I read your emails.”

Michelle laughed, despite herself.

Peter laughed too.

“I’m just saying. I’d like to think there’s something out there. That there's something beyond all this shit. That maybe there's even a Greater Someone out there in the universe, looking out for the little guy.”

His face darkens for a second, so quickly that Michelle almost misses it.

“Cause if anything I know that there’s always someone looking out for the little guy. And I’d like to believe that if He’s out there, that I can be more like Ned. Have faith… that He’s looking out for me too.”

_So why did you leave us?_

_Why did you leave me?_

* * *

When the party’s over, Michelle is relieved.

Old Michelle hated parties but went anyway. A part of her convinced she had to keep up appearances, even knowing that none of it mattered anyway.

_I really only went for the chance to see you._

Current Michelle doesn’t hate parties, but they exhaust her. There’s always too many people, clamoring for attention and to be seen.

She wonders about if there’s a future Michelle that ever will like them.

As Ned’s mom fusses over the leftovers and her dad grabs a trashcan, Michelle wonders about the future - another future - and what it would’ve been like.

* * *

 

She thinks her and Peter would’ve ended up together someday.

Maybe not in college.

She got in everywhere. He would’ve gotten into MIT, just like Ned.

Michelle would’ve chosen – did choose – Princeton.

It was a four-hour drive, but Michelle could’ve imagined that she would’ve wanted to keep her options open. Would’ve convinced herself that tying herself down to a boy she met in high school, right when she was starting the rest of her life – was foolish.

_Even in my day dreams, you would’ve been the only boy for me._

_I wish it wasn’t just a dream._

They would’ve made it work. Promised they wouldn’t be _that_ couple that gets together the end of their senior year only to break up halfway through their first semester of college.

Ned would’ve been relieved. Overjoyed. Yelling because they had finally gotten together.

_He’s doing okay, Pete. He misses you. We all miss you._

_I miss you._

Michelle would’ve laughed, Peter would’ve kissed her, and everything would’ve been fine.

They would’ve made it through the long-distance, the homesickness, the temptations.

They would’ve spent winter break together, but reserved spring break for their new friends.

They would’ve graduated.

_You should’ve had the world, Peter. You would’ve changed the world._

_But I guess in your own way, you did._

_You changed mine._

Peter would’ve been the responsible one, insisting that they save their money before they get started with the rest of their lives – Peter at his inevitable job with Stark Industries and Michelle at some entry-level position with a newspaper – but she would’ve laughed at him, kissed away his arguments.

She would’ve said they had their whole lives to be boring.

_I never thought much of a white picket fence. Never really considered getting married or having kids._

_But I would’ve for you._

They would’ve traveled.

Paris. Bali. Kenya. Slovakia. Anywhere. Everywhere.

Michelle wouldn’t have cared. She’d have Peter.

_And you would’ve had me. Always. You’ll have me._

* * *

The thing about dreams is that as much as you want them to be real, sometimes they can never be. Sometimes they’re only memories of a life unlived. Of a story that’ll forever go untold.

Michelle isn’t sure about much anymore.

She’s sure of her grades. Sure of her admission to Princeton.

Sure that she was going to do great things in her life. Fairly confident that she even _has_ a rest of her life.

_Can we really be sure of anything? Were you sure?_

_Did you know, Peter? Would you have wanted to?_

But she wasn’t sure was if Peter was still out there.

Waiting for her. Thinking of her. Dreaming of her.

Cause she did all three for him.

_I would’ve waited forever for you._

* * *

Michelle wasn’t sure about a lot of things anymore, but she was sure of this.

When she was fifteen, she developed a crush on a boy named Peter Parker.

When she was sixteen, Peter Parker became one of her best friends.

When she was almost seventeen, Peter Parker had died.

And now at almost eighteen, she was sure that she loved him. Had loved him. Would always love him.  

She didn’t know if he was still out there. If there was some place that he still existed, if there was a world where Peter Parker lived beyond sixteen.

She didn’t know if she believed in the multiverse. Didn’t know if there was another dimension where a tragedy hadn’t taken him before she could have a life with him.

She wasn’t sure if Peter knew she had loved him.

Didn’t know if Peter would have even loved her back.

But she had faith.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, I can’t take credit for the God/pancake analogy – that’s from Donald Miller’s Blue Like Jazz. 
> 
> Second, I had a really hard time deciding if MJ knew the truth about Peter’s secret identity. I know it’s such a common trope that MJ has secretly figured out that Peter is Spider-Man. And I love that trope. Am trash for it. But I couldn’t decide here. Part of me wants to say yeah, she knew. But that opened up a whole new wave of grief that I wanted to save for the next chapter. 
> 
> Another part of me likes the idea that MJ didn’t know. She didn’t care about Spider-Man. She cared about Peter.  
> And Peter was the one in her life that she mourned for when he died. 
> 
> In the end, I guess it’s up to you whether she knew or not. I tried to make it vague, just in case. 
> 
> MJ is in the bargaining phase – but it’s different than the usual ‘bargaining’. Bargaining less with this idea of why but more with the what if that happens when a life is cut short, when you still have so much life to live without them.  
> Grief is hard and terrible no matter when it happens – but losing friends - a best friend - when you’re young is such a deep, unexplainable pain. It takes years to feel like life is anything close to normal again... and even that's not completely true. You can never get back to normal. 
> 
> Which is why – I apologize in advance for the next chapter. 
> 
> Poor Ned.


	4. Ned

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me just say, from the bottom of my heart...
> 
> My bad.

“Hey Leeds, you got the diffy Q homework questions?”

Ned glanced up from his StarkPhone to see Will Jenkins, a guy from his study group, staring back at him.

“Yeah, yeah I got them somewhere give me a minute.” Ned puts his phone down, searches through his backpack before finding his copy of the assignment.

“Awesome, thanks Leeds.” Ned throws a hand up, grabbing his phone again while Will jots down which questions are assigned.

He honestly forgets that Will was even there until he clears his throat. Ned looks up.

“Hey man, a couple of us we’re gonna head out for some beers soon… maybe shoot some pool, talk to some girls. Want to hang?”

Will had an unreadable expression on his face, or maybe Ned was just bad at reading people. He had been for awhile now, for years.

“I—uh man, I don’t know. Going out and all that, not really my thing.”

Will nodded, seeming to understand. “I get it man, but you know if you change your mind – you’re always welcome. We’ll be at Bukowski’s till they close out. Or well, we’ll try. You know how Shannon gets when she gets tipsy.”

Ned – in fact – did not know how Shannon got. He never went out with her, with their diffy Q study group. He rarely went out at all.

Will knew that. Ned knew that. But Ned humored him anyway.

“Yeah man, for sure. I’ll think about.”

“Awesome, dude. Again, no pressure but if you do decide to come out – just text me and I’ll be sure to have a spot for you.”

Will smiled and Ned returned it.

As Will walked out of the common area of their overpriced dorm, Ned was thankful that he knew a guy like Will.

Will was nice. Friendly. Always tried to include him into group activities. MJ was convinced Will had a crush on Ned but he had laughed that off.

It’s not that he didn’t think he was a catch. The handful of girlfriends he’d had since high school disproved that. But Ned didn’t get that vibe from him.

It just felt like Will wanted Ned to know that he belonged. And Ned knew that he did.

It was just hard to be there, to fully embrace his college life, when someone else should’ve been there too.

* * *

 

As the sun started to go down and Ned’s stomach started to grumble, he tapped his fingers on the chair absentmindedly, watching the coming and goings of the residence hall.

Ned was 21, still young enough to get away with living in a dorm even if half the people in his program all lived elsewhere now.

It’s not that he couldn’t have found an apartment somewhere. Stark had made it clear that if he needed anything – even _breathed_ in the direction of something he nascently wanted – that it was his.

MJ had tried to convince him to take advantage of that generosity, and while he hadn’t felt wrong about it per se – he still wasn’t all that comfortable with it.

“I don’t know, MJ. I know he means it. We’ve established that it’s not _just_ his guilt complex for offering, but I still want to make it on my own merit, you know? Just have something that I got for myself.”

MJ gave him a face over the video call. “First off, Leeds – you’re an idiot if you think it’s only _Stark’s_ guilt complex that we’re talking about here.”

Ned winced and MJ paused. Ned knew she hadn’t meant for the comment to be as strong as she did, so her next statement was a little softer.

“I just think you should recognize that half the people – maybe even eighty percent of them – had some kind of unfair advantage that no one else had. Mommy and daddy’s money, a connection in the admissions office, private tutoring… I just don’t think you should dismiss a good thing – especially when it’s really just leveling the playing field.”

Ned sighed.

“It’s not that exactly… it’s just…” He trailed off, looking out his window. MJ watched him, patient as he took his time.

She was like that now. Not necessarily quieter – just more patient. Ned was grateful. It took him longer to think of what he wanted to say now.

“I think you’re right. I know it’s not my fault. I know that if he was here – if Peter was here – I wouldn’t think twice of taking anything Stark offered.”

“But he’s not here.” Michelle offered.

Ned closed his eyes. “No, he’s not.”

MJ was quiet for a second, her head tilted to the side.

“Look Leeds, I’m not going to try and tell you what you should and shouldn’t do with Stark’s offers cause – I get it. I have to deal with my own issues with what he gives me and Peter and I…” Her breath hitches and Ned gives a comforting glance.

“Well, we won’t ever know what Peter and I would’ve been. But me, you, May – Stark – we all know for a fact that Peter thought the world of you. That you were his absolute best friend.”

Ned began to say something before MJ cut him off. “I know. I know. He loved me too. He was my best friend too. But it’s different Ned, and you know it.”

Her voice was soft now, smaller. It always was when she called him by his first name.

“I just really wish he was here.” He whispered.

“Me too, Ned. Me too.”

* * *

 

As it stood, he had taken Stark up on some of his offers. Let Stark send the newest iteration of the StarkPhone, the newest laptops, let him pay for all his textbooks.

But he didn’t want Stark to pay for a private apartment.

For several reasons.

For starters, he actually got along fine with his roommate. Back before the worst day, when life was a lot simpler in Ned Leeds’ life, he had always looked forward to rooming with Peter.

“It’s going to be SICK, dude.” Ned would exclaim, Peter laughing at how excitable he got.

“I know man, I know but if we don’t pass this AP Lit exam, then it’s not really gonna matter.”

Ned was undeterred. “MIT doesn’t give a shit about lit anyway. It’s the school of _technology_ , Peter. They care about our science scores.”

Peter rolled his eyes, laughing while he said, “Yeah, I think they look at the whole application man.”

“I don’t know why you even worry, Peter. You know Mr. Stark would personally sue the admissions office if you don’t get in. And since your emotional well-being is intimately tied to your friendship with me, _you’d_ sue them if I don’t get in.”

Peter seemed unsure of how to take that. He let out a hurried laugh but Ned could notice that the comment had hit him in the wrong way. Ned wasn’t sure if you even could sue an admissions office but seeing the look on Peter’s face, he backtracked.

“I mean, that’s not to say that you’re not totally gonna get in on your own, Peter. I mean—you’re like, the smartest person I know and definitely the top of our class. Don’t tell MJ I said that… or Flash. Or Betty. Really, don’t tell anyone. Cause it’s true and I’m not ashamed of it but still, we gotta another year with these people and I don’t—”

Peter put a hand up and said, “No it’s… it’s not that Ned. I know I’m good enough to get in – to at least have a chance. I just…” Ned paused, sitting on the floor of Peter’s room while Peter was on his bed, looking out the window.

* * *

 

Someone once said that you never know when you’re making a memory till it’s gone.

Ned would think back to this moment over and over again, trying to go back and see if he missed anything. If there was anything he could’ve said or done.

Wondered if he could’ve asked if Peter knew. Wished he could’ve asked what Peter was thinking.

Peter mentioned that he had a sense when danger was coming. A sense when things were wrong. It was always immediate and to Ned’s eyes, random. It warned him about supervillain freaks and car crashes sure, but it also went off for Flash throwing spitballs, when Ned was about to inadvertently push Peter towards a puddle.

Ned knew Peter tended to ignore it most times – only really paying attention when he was in the suit.

But from all Ned knew, Peter never mentioned that it was like, really precognitive. Like a dread that built over time. It was always immediate – instinctual, _right_ before danger hit.

But the way Peter was looking, the face he made – the one Ned would search out over and over in his memory – would haunt Ned for the rest of his life. 

Had he sensed it? Had he known?

Ned would’ve given anything to go back to then. It had been only days before the worst day.

He would go back and ask Peter if he knew.

To warn Peter about was going to happen.

To warn him about the worst day.

But it was a memory—he couldn’t change it. Couldn’t change anything.  

All he could do was remember.

* * *

 

It’s a picture forever seared into his mind, made sharper by the fact that it was so close to the worst day. Peter’s hair a mess, his Midtown shirt a little ripped at the edges, his eyes having that faraway look – seeing the city but also beyond.  

Ned had a million memories of Peter. A thousand different stories he could think of. But it was this moment that he remembered most.

Seeing Peter – his best friend for almost ten years – looking so much older, so much more worn than he had ever thought possible.

“I just wonder sometimes if I’ll live long enough to get there.”

* * *

 

Ned opened the door to his room to see his roommate crouching over some textbooks.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

That was the extent of their conversations. Ned didn’t mind.

Jamie wasn’t as weird as Oscar had been, but not as chill as his first roommate Tommy had been. Jamie was somewhere in the middle – nice enough to offer Ned his leftovers but distant enough that he wasn’t exactly sure what his last name was.

Ned didn’t mind. It was nice to have someone to come home too.

His last girlfriend had offered for them to move in together.

“Come on Neddy, I think it would be a great idea.” Shelly, blonde hair and blue eyes – looking a little too much like Betty. Ned tried to push that thought away.

“Yeah babe, I don’t know… I mean we’ve only been together six months and—”

“But see that’s exactly it! Six months! And it’s like, you’re so chill about everything. Alana’s boyfriend couldn’t wait for them to move in together and don’t get me wrong – your dorm room is way nicer than anyone else’s that I know but, it’d be nice to have a place just for us right? Just ours?”

He looked into Shelly’s eyes and saw the hurt, the yearning. She was a nice girl. Funny. Quick smart. MJ had said that if Ned didn’t want her, that she would date her.

Ned laughed as he always did when MJ made comments like that. MJ didn’t seem to care about who she was with. Just that she was with someone. Anyone. A warm body.

Ned didn’t judge her. They all found their own ways to cope. He asked about her latest boyfriend.

“Oh, we were never really dating. Just having some fun.”

“You say that about all of them.”

“Are you trying to call me loose, Leeds?” He laughed.

“No, MJ I’m just saying–“

“I know what you’re saying, Leeds and I resent it. I get it. I just—” her voice got quiet on the other end.

“Relationships are ruined for me now. Anytime I start to get close to someone… I just… I just compare them to Peter. And it’s unfair, Ned. You can’t compete with a dead man, you know?”

Ned did know. It was exactly why things with Shelly ended up fizzling out the next month.

He didn’t love Peter like MJ had. Like MJ still did.

But he _had_ loved Peter.

Peter was his best friend. His brother. His confidante.

And while MJ would talk about her exploits and would try and say relationships were ruined for her, she knew part of it was her just being scared. Because her hookups and trysts and friends with benefits or whatever… no one ever seemed to hang around for long.

Ned and MJ both knew that they were scared of letting anyone too close. Letting anyone _truly_ back in.

Because they would never compare to the Peter-shaped hole in their hearts.

Ned wondered if anyone ever would.

* * *

 

Jamie left – as he mysteriously always did around 8pm and Ned just stared at the ceiling.

It was quiet. It was dark.

He was alone.

And it reminded him of the worst day.

That was another reason he hadn’t wanted an apartment by himself, hadn’t wanted to move in with his girlfriend.

Cause when you’re alone, it’s quiet.

When it’s quiet, all you have are your thoughts – your memories.

And still – almost four years to the day that Peter died – Ned didn’t want to relive those memories.

He didn’t want to go back to the worst day.

* * *

 

Ned showered. Scrolled through his StarkPhone.

Turned on a gaming console. Turned it off after a few minutes.

Opened up a language learning app and played some of the games.

Thought about doing sit-ups. Did exactly three.

He wasn’t hungry, but he knew he should eat. Ned looked at his watch. 8:47pm.

There were some vending machines down on the 2nd floor.

He grabbed his wallet and walked out of his door.  

As he waited for the elevator, Ned watched as some girls walked out of their room – decked out in the kind of heels MJ said could murder someone – laughing and smiling as they linked arms and teetered towards the stairs.

One of the girls, already a little tipsy from their pre-gaming flashed a smile to Ned. He smiled back.

He missed feeling that care free. Missed the sensation of feeling that it was just you and your best friend against the world.

Ned was only 21. But he felt much older than that.

Had felt older than what he was for years.

It had started on the worst day.

He thought of Will’s invitation – of the fact that he hadn’t ever really gone out and did the typical college thing.

Even his mom had encouraged him to go out.

“Ay ye _anak_ , it’s not good for you stay home all day.”

“I don’t stay home all day, ma. I go out. I do things.” Ned sighed, knowing trying to argue with his mother is like trying to argue with a brick wall.

“Maybe so but you know I don’t like it when you’re alone for too long. You know the doctor says that’s not healthy for you.”

Ned did know. He’d gone to therapy. They all had. After the worst day, it was part of the healing process. The moving forward.

“Promise me you’ll make an effort this week, _anak_.” Her voice was hopeful.

“I promise, ma.” Ned lied. She knew it was a lie too. But she accepted it all the same.

“Tch ok. Now tell me more about your class yesterday.”

It was a game they played. A step-by-step process. Ned relied on a lot of those now, made things into a game so he kept himself on track.

He’d tell her about class.

She’d tell him about his sister.

He’d tell her about his roommate.

She’d tell him to go out.

He lied and said she would.

She’d lie and said she believed him.

And they’d repeat.

It’s not that Ned _didn’t_ want to go out, didn’t want to see what all the fuss was about. It’s not like Ned never drank, never fooled around. He’d had three girlfriends since Betty. He was 21. He was an adult.

But Ned felt so much younger than his age sometimes. So much older. He wondered if that was Peter had felt like too.

As the elevator dinged and he pushed the button to take him the 2nd floor, Ned thought about what Peter would’ve been like in college.

Ned and Peter had been nerds in high school. In a school full of high-achieving, Type A science nerds, they were still relatively low on the social food chain.

They went to some parties, more often Ned getting abandoned in favor of some Spider-Man thing. He didn’t mind. His friend was a hero. Right up until the worst day.

They had other friends. They had hobbies.

But they had never been the “going out” type. And at the time, hadn’t really been around kids who did. And once Peter got his powers, it wasn’t like alcohol did much to him anyway, so Ned figured there was no point in trying.

Cause it wasn’t necessarily _guilt_ that stopped him, as MJ would say. Maybe guilt was too simple a term.

Ned knew it wasn’t his fault that he was still alive while Peter was dead. Knew that Peter would’ve never wanted Ned to stop living life just because he had died.

It wasn’t that type of guilt – survivor’s guilt, his therapist had called it.

It also wasn’t that he felt guilty about enjoying things without Peter. That if he somehow kept living and doing things, that it would somehow mean that he didn’t enjoy his life before the worst day. His life when Peter Parker was alive and was his best friend.

He enjoyed his life, all things considered. A great scholarship to MIT. Good grades. Friendly relationships with his ex-girlfriends. Good study buddies.

His mom and dad and sister were all happy and healthy and whole. His friendship with MJ was as strong as ever.

It wasn’t that. It wasn’t _guilt_.

It just all felt wrong. Like trying to fit into the Spider-Man costume that first time.

Ned laughed. Even his own mental metaphors revolved around Peter.

Ned felt like the life he was living – the life that he was genuinely happy to have – just wasn’t complete. It was missing something.

Ned knew what it was. Knew exactly who it was.

As the elevator doors opened up, he wondered if that feeling would ever go away.

* * *

 

Most of the kids in his little study group went on expensive vacations during the holidays. Ned could too – he was always invited. Always had an offer from Stark to send him and his family on some obscenely expensive trip to Bali or whatever.

He always turned them down, much to his sister’s annoyance.

Again, he wasn’t guilty. It wasn’t guilt.

It all just felt lackluster. Like the shine on good things in his life were just a little less bright.

He remembered coming home one Christmas, the end of his sophomore year. They had had a good holiday, went to Mass, ate a massive dinner. Ned had been zoning out at the table while his sister chattered about some new kid in her class when his phone buzzed.

“Hey Ned, Merry Christmas. I’d love to see you sometime if you’re free. No worries if you’re too busy. Just wanted to check in.”

His mom must’ve noticed the face he made because she immediately asked, “What’s wrong, _anak_?”

“It’s May.”

The chattering stopped.

“Well… wha—what did she say? Is she okay? Does she need somewhere to go? Ah ye, I forgot to invite her this year. I should’ve—”

Ned cut his mom off and said, “No, I mean I don’t know… she just wanted to check in on me. Wanted to see if we could meet up.”

His dad looked thoughtfully at him. “Do you want to go?”

Ned furrowed his brow. “Don’t I have to?”

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do, _anak_.”

It’s not that he didn’t want to see May. In all honesty, he’d missed her.

After the worst day, he felt like he clung more to May in the blur of those first few months than he ever had before. He had texted constantly, gave her updates on senior year.

Without meaning to, things just kind of cooled down when he moved off for school. It hadn’t been intentional, he hadn’t wanted to cut her off.

It’s just one day he forgot to message her – some exam took too much of his time.

May had never reached out.

And that was that.

He wondered later if he had been bugging her, if his constant stream of text messages and phone calls had been painful and – in her own attempt at helping a grieving eighteen-year old – she just took it, even while she dealt her own problems after the worst day.

His parents and therapists assured him that wasn’t it. That she probably just didn’t want to overcrowd him.

But he still felt guilty about that. The one thing he truly felt guilty for.

“No I… I want to. I think I will.”

“Okay, _anak_. Whatever you want.”

* * *

 

They met at a coffee shop, some hipster popup that had opened sometime while Ned was in school.

He had gotten lost on the way, stopped in to Delmar’s on his way there. Mr. Delmar had offered a sandwich – how the man remembered his order when Ned hadn’t been in for _years_ , he didn’t know – but he declined. Just wanted to say hi.

That was another thing he did feel guilty for.

No one had told Mr. Delmar that Peter had died.

And it wasn’t until way after the worst day, when school had started again, and he overheard Flash talking about Spider-Man, that he learned Mr. Delmar had closed his shop on the second worst day.  

“Wait you said Delmar’s is closed?”

Flash looked stricken. He hadn’t talked to Ned in months. Hadn’t given a second look to Ned since before the worst day. He knew he’d been there, for the second worst day, MJ had told him later, but Ned hadn’t remembered seeing him there.

To be fair, Ned didn’t remember a lot of what happened in the weeks and months after the worst days.

“No man, I mean. Ye—yeah it closed, but only… one day. I was… I was just trying to get some flowers, you know? And when I went by today to get some flowers for the new art exhibit for Spider-Man, I passed by Delmar’s again and…”

Flash wasn’t making sense. Ned wasn’t listening anyway.

Ned knew the world was mourning for Spider-Man. That Peter had done a really brave thing, that he had had the chance to save himself but then didn’t.

Peter had always had pockets of fame when he was Spider-Man. In a city full of crazy vigilantes and the freaking _Avengers_ , it was hard to really stand out.

But the worst day. That had catapulted Peter from being the local hero to a guy the whole country heard about. That the world had mourned over.

It was crazy to Ned. Before the worst day, he would’ve been ecstatic at the amount of fame and adoration Spider-Man had gotten. Would’ve bugged the shit out of Peter to go public and take it all in.

Peter would never. Never wanted the fame. Never wanted the glory. Just wanted to look out for the little guy, he said.

But then the worst day happened. And Ned finally realized why Peter was so reluctant for Ned to be his guy in the chair.

Because Ned – knowing it was dangerous, knowing that what Peter dealt with wasn’t a game – had still never fully felt the consequences of what Spider-Man did. Of what Peter faced anytime he went out on patrol.

He didn’t realize it until the worst day. And the worst day was that for a lot of many reasons. But especially because he hadn’t been there for Peter.

Peter had made sure of that.

He wasn’t angry anymore. He was just sad. Wished he could’ve been there with Peter till the end. When he made his decision. When he stayed.

Ned found comfort in knowing that at least Peter hadn’t been alone on the worst day.

But it hurt Ned when he realized that Mr. Delmar – a vocal supporter of Spider-Man, to the point where Peter’s ears would redden from the attention even if Mr. Delmar didn’t know the truth – had to deal with not only his hero dying, but Peter.

Mr. Delmar learned about Spider-Man the way everyone else had.

But Ned should’ve told him about Peter.

He felt guilty about that.  

* * *

 

When Ned arrives at the coffee shop, May is already there.

She looks good. Nice even. May was like a second mom to him. He had missed her.

“Hey Ned, how are you?” She wrapped him up in a hug and Ned returned it.

“I’m good, May. How are you?” He said, voice muffled by her hair.

It was a stupid question. They both knew it. They said it anyway.

It was just a game they played.

“Oh, you know.” May answered, and that was that. A small smile on her lips.

Ned sat down across from her. He hadn’t ordered anything but didn’t plan to. He still didn’t like coffee. But May did.

She took a sip from her mug. “I’m moving.”

Ned gave her a blank look. Shocked.

“Not—not far. Not out of Queens… I couldn’t be too far from Ben… from Peter.” Her voice wavered as she set the coffee cup down.

“You don’t have to explain.” He started.

“No, it’s not that, I know that. I just wanted to let you know. I’ve been… I went through his stuff. Peter’s. And I wanted to see if there’s anything you wanted to keep.”

Ned didn’t know what to say.

“If it’s too much, if you can’t that’s fine,” she began to say, clearing her throat. “I just wanted to give you the opportunity to, to look over things. Just in case. I’m not getting rid of anything. It’ll all be safe in storage.”

She glanced up at him. Ned was still at a loss.

“I just can’t bear walking by his room anymore.”

* * *

 

Ned had taken up May on her offer, after the shock wore off. It was therapeutic, in that weird way that grieving was after some time had passed.

Peter had been gone for three years by then. Not long enough to feel okay about. There would never be a time when a world after the worst day – a world without Peter – would feel okay.

But he and May felt comfortable enough to talk about him. To joke. To laugh. Mostly at his expense.

Ned had missed that. Hearing May laugh.

“And he was just SO insistent that no one would notice! As if Ben and I couldn’t tell immediately tell that he had stuffed his Han Solo figurine under shirt to take with him.” Her eyes glistened with tears. Happy ones, Ned thought.

She laughed and then smiled. “He was really such a nerdy boy.” She ruffled Ned’s hair. “So were you, kiddo.”

Ned returned the smile. “Yeah, pack of nerds we were. MJ says that if we ever applied ourselves too hard, we could’ve either cured cancer or brought about apocalypse.”

“That MJ is a smart one.”

“Hey!”

May rustled through another box before she stopped, staring at something. Ned paused. He hadn’t been waiting for a bomb to drop exactly, but he knew how this went.

* * *

It’s like this.

You’re sitting in the subway and all of a sudden you get a whiff of a hot dog. You’re back in a cafeteria, laughing with him. But it's not true. He's not here with you. 

It’s like this.

A guy yells about some new vigilante on the news. You strain to hear what he’s saying, thinking its him. It’s not. It never is.

It’s like this.

A kid walks by with a Spider-Man toy. Your heart stops.

In the days, weeks, first year or so after the worst day, it took next to nothing to set Ned off. To send him into a tailspin of grief, and horror, and emotions.

Three years in, it didn’t happen as often. But when it did – usually by the most random of things – it was enough to kick him in the gut so hard that it was like he was back there.

Back in his room.

Back when he heard the news.

When it was the worst day.

* * *

 

He waited – not sure what was going to happen with May, when she burst out laughing.

He hadn’t expected that.

He chuckled cautiously and said, “You alright, May?”

She was hysterical now, laughing so hard that tears started to come out of her face.

Ned knew that happened too sometimes. That the grief was so overwhelming that your body didn’t know how to react except to cry.

Because how ridiculous was it? To bury your best friend at sixteen?

But then she wiped them away, laughed and then brought out what had caused her outburst.

It was Peter’s Spider-Man costume. His old one. Stark called it the glorified onesie.

“God, he must’ve looked so _ridiculous_ in this.” May grinned, running a finger over the length of the hoodie.

Ned, still cautious but nodding in agreement. “Stark had said that he couldn’t believe that Peter could actually see through those googles. I agreed but I never told Peter that.”

“Oh Peter would’ve totally disowned you. Would’ve thought it was the ultimate betrayal from his guy in the chair.” May was still smiling, clearly lost in a memory but Ned could tell it was a happy one.

“Yeah, that was probably my favorite job so far.” Ned let out a long breath.

“What’s that?”

“Being Peter’s guy in the chair.”

Ned hadn’t caught that May was looking at him now, had started to get lost in his own thoughts when she put a hand on his shoulder.

“I want you to have this.”

Ned shook his head. “No, no May I can’t. That’s… it’s Peter’s. It should be yours.”

“And I invited you here for that reason. I can’t keep this all, I can’t—” she closed her eyes and took a shaky breath.

Ned started to feel guilty again.

“I want you to have things that remind you of Peter. The life that you guys had. Peter may have died as Spider-Man, but he’s still Peter. He was still our Peter.”

Ned felt his throat constrict, the tears he knew were coming.

“I’ve made my peace with the fact that Peter and Spider-Man were one in the same. I wasn’t happy when I found out, but I was proud of him. So proud. And I think, he would’ve wanted you to have this. Because you knew Peter better than anyone else did – probably knew even more about his inner life than me.”

Ned was definitely going to cry now.

“But you were also there for Spider-Man. Right up until the end, Ned. You should remember both sides of him. You should have things that remind you of that.”

He hadn’t been there in the end. May had to have known that. Maybe she didn’t.

He didn’t feel like correcting her.

Peter had stopped him before he could. When Peter must’ve known that it was going to be the worst day.

Ned took the spider suit home.

* * *

 

Ned didn’t say anything as he walked through the door.

Walked right past by his concerned mom, past the questioning look from his dad.

He walked straight to his old bedroom and closed the door.

Crawled into bed.

Held the suit to his face. Held it tightly to his chest.

God, it still smelt like him.

Ned held the suit all night.

And cried. 

* * *

 

Unfathomable.

Aching.

Unimaginable.

The hole in his heart would never go away.

It was the worst day all over again. The worst day. The worst day.

Ned wondered if there’d ever be a day in his life when he wouldn’t shake at the memory of the worst day, if he’d ever stop crying over the day his best friend’s life had ended.

But he also felt guilty.

Cause he hadn’t been there for Peter on the worst day.

Peter hadn’t gone alone.

But Ned hadn’t been there.

It was the worst day.

* * *

 

The vending machine was jammed.

Ned gave a half-hearted pound to the window, enough to give it a shake but not enough to do any real damage. He didn’t really care if he got the peanuts. Wasn’t really hungry.

But he knew he should eat. Knew it would be good for him.

He closed his eyes and put his head towards the glass.

He could hear the shouts and laughter from down the hall, the unmistakable sounds of a video game to his left, the people who were definitely _not_ playing a game to his right. Ned sighed.

Peter had mentioned once that he used to get sensory overload sometimes, that the feedback and noise of the city had gotten so bad sometimes that he had to find ways to dial it back.

Ned didn’t have superpowers. Hadn’t wanted them after the worst day. But he wondered if it felt like this.

The static, the pain of having too much noise, too many sounds and lights.

He wondered if Peter had felt that when he died. If he had been overwhelmed. If he had been peaceful. He didn’t want to know. He had to know. 

He asked Stark about the worst day once.

…

Ned felt guilty about that too.

* * *

 

Frustrated with the machine, he gives up. Is about to walk take the elevator back to his room when he sees – of all people – Will.

“Hey man!? You live on this floor?” Will seemed just as surprised as Ned did.

“No, I was, uh—trying to get something from the vending machine but it’s broken.”

“Oh cool.”

No extra comments. No questions. Will was so unlike Peter.

Peter would’ve bugged him. Would’ve asked what he was getting, if he could help him find someone to get what he paid for out. Would’ve maybe tried himself to get it.

But that was who Peter was. Will wasn’t Peter. Will could never be Peter.

“Well, we’re about to head out if you want to join us.” Will smiled.

Straight and to the point. Not unkind.

Ned thought about it.

“Sure.”

* * *

 

Ned played a lot of games now. Made a lot of decisions methodically, quietly. Took his time. Decisions took longer now.

When Ned was younger, he had been excitable. Too eager. Too pushy.

He always wondered if it had annoyed Peter – Peter, who could be just as frazzled but also eerily calm – that Ned was such a bundle of energy.

He wondered. But he never felt that. Peter loved him. He had loved Peter.

Peter used to help him make the big decisions. The little decisions. Every decision.

But Peter was gone now, so Ned played a game in his head. Methodical ones. Patient.

He had to.

After the worst day.

* * *

 

It’s like this.

You meet your best friend when you’re seven years old.

You’re seven. You don’t have a care in the world. Your new best friend seems like he has the world on his shoulders, like he’s so sad.

He may not know he’s your best friend yet, but he will.

You make it your mission to make him laugh.

By the end of the first day, he does.

* * *

 

It’s like this.

Your best friend loses his uncle. He’s already lost his parents. He feels alone.

You sleep over every night. You tell him that it’s okay to cry. That you’ll be there with him forever.

He asks if you promise.

You say that you do.

You don’t think that someday he’ll make you break that promise.

You don’t think to ask if he promises to stay forever too.

* * *

 

It’s like this.

Your best friend gets crazy superpowers when he’s fourteen. Doesn’t tell you until he’s fifteen.

It’s the best thing that’s ever happened in your life.

You gush about his powers, ask questions incessantly, probably a bit too loudly.

Your best friend tries to shut you up. But you can’t help it.

Your best friend is the best guy you know.

If Flash or Marco had gotten powers, they would be supervillains.

You don’t even trust yourself with superpowers, as much as you want them.

But you trust your best friend. He’s the best guy for them.

You’re proud of him. You never tell him.

You wish you did.

* * *

 

It’s like this.

Your best friend deals with some crazy shit.

He fights some guys with weird alien tech. Sends his homecoming date’s dad to jail.

He fights some crazy guy in a rhino costume. A scorpion costume. Shit, now there’s a lizard dude?

Your best friend gets kicked down a lot. Gets hurt. Cries.

But you’re his guy in the chair. You’re there for him every single time.

You’re bad with blood and annoy him with how many times you ask for him to call Mr. Stark.

You do it anyway because even though your best friend is strong, you know he needs someone with him during the bad days.

Your best friend is mad, but never for long.

You’re his guy in the chair. You’re helping your best friend be a superhero.

You feel like it’s the coolest thing in the world.

You know that no matter what happens, no matter how bad he’s hurt, he’s going to get back up.

Your best friend always gets up.

You wish that had stayed true.

* * *

 

It’s like this.

Your best friend dies at sixteen.

Your best friend.

He dies.

He’s dead.

It’s the worst day.

* * *

 

It’s like this.

Your best friend stopped you from being there.

Cut you off.

You couldn’t be his guy in the chair.

You’re angry.

You’re hurt.

You’re inconsolable.

Your best friend is dead.

You’re sixteen.

He’s dead.

It’s the worst day.

* * *

 

It’s like this.

You yell at Stark. You call him Stark now.

He yells back at you.

You throw things. He cries.

You cry too.

He asks if you want to see him.

Your heart stops.

You can’t do it. It makes it real.

Your best friend is dead.

It’s the worst day.

* * *

 

It’s like this.

Nothing matters.

The world is empty, dark and cold.

You bury your best friend.

It’s the second worst day.

* * *

 

It’s like this.

You blink, and a month passes.

Another blink, and it’s time for school.

You don’t know how you got through the summer.

You almost text your best friend to ask what happened.

You remember.

It’s the worst day.

* * *

 

It’s like this.

You’re back at school.

You show up to class. You never do your homework.

The teachers should care. Should stop you from slacking.

They don’t.

You get into MIT.

You don’t know how.

Part of you wonders if Stark did it.

Part of you doesn’t care.

Part of you wishes your best friend was there. Getting accepted too.

You’re excited.

You feel guilty.

It’s the worst day.

* * *

 

It’s like this.

You pack up your stuff, kiss your parents goodbye, and move into a dorm.

You have a roommate. You go to class.

You think about the worst day. You cry. Your roommate doesn’t seem to mind.

But then you wake up.

You go to class again.

Something reminds of you of your best friend.

You think about the worst day.

You don’t cry.

It still hurts.

But you don’t cry.

You wonder if that’s progress.

* * *

 

It’s like this.

You run all your girlfriends by MJ. She never runs anyone by you.

You laugh. You smile. You cry.

You both miss him so much.

You wonder if you’ll ever stop missing him.

You know you won’t.

* * *

 

 

It’s like this.

You get accepted into grad school. You tried this time – applied to more places than just one.

You don’t ask if Stark helped. You don’t care if he did.

Your best friend would’ve wanted you take the help.

Your best friend would’ve been proud.

* * *

 

It’s like this.

MJ texts. Then calls. Hangs up. Calls again.

She’s crying.

You wonder if it’s the worst day. Wonder if she’s back there again.

You prepare yourself to go back there with her.

But that’s not it.

It’s not the worst day.

It’s a great day.

She met a guy. She wants to tell you about him. His name is Matthew.

You ask if she’s happy. She says she is.

You say you’re happy for her.

She waits. She knows what you’re going to say next.

Doesn’t need to hear it but wants to all the same.

You tell her that your best friend would’ve been happy for her too.

She cries.

* * *

 

It’s like this.

You went out with Will and his friends more often. Made more friends of your own. When you graduate, you promise to stay in touch.

You hadn’t made those promises after high school. You hadn’t cared.

You care now. You think your best friend would’ve liked that.

* * *

 

It’s like this.

You start grad school.

You move into your brand-new apartment. Paid for by your stipend, but fully furnished by Tony Stark. You call him to say thank you.

He tells you it was nothing.

You correct him.

You say it’s everything.

Your best friend would’ve been grateful.

You tell him so.

You hear him cry over the phone.

You join him.

* * *

 

It’s like this.

You start a new life. You don’t let go of your old one. You could never.

You don’t feel guilty about moving forward.

It’s not the worst day.

You get settled. You date.

You work on your research.

You get frustrated with your adviser.

You laugh. You cry. You hang out at your apartment alone.

You don’t always spend your nights alone.

It’s been five years since the worst day.

You know you’ll never get over it. Know by now, it was foolish to think you ever could.

But you keep going. You keep living.

* * *

 

You miss the life you had before the worst day. The boy you were. How small your problems had been.

You miss the idea of what your life could’ve been.

Miss the idea of memories with your best friend that you never got to make.

But you’re okay.

It’s not the worst day.

You smile when you hear about Spider-Man now, when your friends still debate who he was.

You never told anyone his secret. You never would.

It’s not the worst day.

You forgive yourself for not being there.

You forgive your best friend for stopping you.

You know he wasn’t alone when he died.

You’re thankful for that.

It’s not the worst day.

You wake up and do your research.

Your job isn’t your favorite, but it’s okay.

You almost miss being the guy in the chair.

You miss your best friend more.

It’s not the worst day.

It’s another one.

And another one.

And another.

Another day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was… really hard. It was supposed to the ‘depression’ stage of grief but as you can tell, it kind of went all over the place – all the way up to acceptance. Like I said at the end of Chapter 2, the five stages aren’t a hard and fast rule – aren’t even linear sometimes. Aren’t always true. 
> 
> But I poured a lot of my own memories/feelings into this so if it feels too hard of a switch, or that too much time has passed, that’s my bad. 
> 
> Next is May. Ugh. That one hurts even worse. 
> 
> And then. 
> 
> The worst day.


	5. May

When May Parker lost her husband Ben, she thought she had known loss.

The loss of her parents had happened so many years ago, it barely registered with her anymore. She was used to being by herself, convinced herself that she was better off being alone.

But when she met Benjamin Parker, she had found family. She found another part of her soul, created a life with a man who made her believe in fairytales – in magic. He lit up her life, brought out a side of her she hadn’t known before, filled her world with laughter and with family in his brother, his wife and their sweet little boy.

Losing Ben’s brother and his wife had been difficult. Taking in their grief-stricken son – her nephew, Peter – had seemed impossible.

May hadn’t wanted kids. Had only been convinced to get married because of how much she adored Ben. She wasn’t sure how to do this – how to navigate grief once again, while raising the boy that had been left behind.

No matter what she faced though, no matter what life had in store for them, she was okay. She knew she’d be okay. Because May was convinced that grief – terrible, aching grief – was something you could live with. Live on with. Especially when you had someone to ground you, to be with you. To love you.

May was convinced that as long as she had Ben – she’d be okay.

And then she lost him too.

* * *

 

The grief had been crippling, earth-shattering, a pain that she never thought would go away.

Losing Ben had felt like losing a limb, a part of her that could never be filled.

She grieved endlessly for him – he was her best friend, her lover, her confidante.

Peter would later try and get her to go out, to date – and she did. She thought about it. She tried.

She could never replace Ben. Would never replace him, never wanted to.

But May knew – somewhere deep, in the depths of her heart – that she could find love again. Ben had opened up the part of her and even if he was gone, she knew the crack in her heart – the capacity to love – would never close up again.

May knew that someday, the pain of Ben’s absences wouldn’t feel be so sharp. That she could meet a man that wouldn’t replace the life she had built with Ben but would – in its own way – fit into her heart. That she would open herself up and feel again, _love_ again. Ben had made sure of it, that May would never close herself up ever again.

She expected it. She mildly dreaded it. But she knew it was possible. She could imagine it.

* * *

 

She moved forward – day by day. Minute by minute. Creating a life that Ben would be proud of. She had to. For Peter.

Peter was her joy, her purpose, the reason she willed herself to get back up in the days and months of losing Ben, when the pain seemed unbearable.

One more day. For Peter. Always for Peter. She could do this. She had a child to raise. She never wanted children. She couldn’t imagine life without him.

She had nightmares of Ben’s death. Nightmares that terrified her, that tortured her. Peter had been there, held him as he had died. The horror of her little Peter – a child she couldn’t have ever imagined, a child she couldn’t live without – holding on the love of her life as he left this world.

It broke her, to think that she couldn’t protect him from that sorrow. Peter had already been through so much, had lived through and lost so much.

She would move forward – if only to make sure that the smile on Peter’s face and the light in his eyes never went away. In her nightmares, the ones that no amount of alcohol could chase away, that no sleeping pill could erase, were of Peter – young, so young – crying, sobbing, wishing for Ben to be back. Holding Ben – bloody, gasping for breath, for Peter – as he died.

She’d wake herself up, panicked. In agony. Blinking away the sleep, the nightmare, the horror, she’d slowly creep over to Peter’s bedroom. She’d watch as he rolled over in his bed, feel her heart beating fast and willed it to slow down.

Peter was safe. Peter was alive. Peter was okay.

Most nights she would be content to just watch him, to see the steady rise and fall of his chest and be comforted that Peter was safe. That Peter’s tragedies didn’t define him. That Peter may not have been able to save Ben, but that Ben had saved Peter – had sparked the same hope in him to keep going he had started in May all those years ago.

Peter would survive this. Peter was safe. Peter was alive. Peter was okay.

* * *

 

In the depth of her soul, in the worst of her agony and grief, her nightmares revolved the most about the pain of losing Ben, the pain of knowing she couldn’t erase the memory of Ben bleeding out in some dark alley in Peter’s mind.

In an endless number of lifetimes, in a thousand worlds and universes, even May’s nightmares couldn’t have dreamt up the worst thing. The worst place. The worst day.

Even in her wildest, terrifying nightmares, she couldn’t have imagined losing Peter.

Losing Peter – her nephew, her _child_ – was devastating.  Incomprehensible. Impossible. Not even her worst nightmares could create something so horrifying – so overwhelming, unfathomable, unimaginable.

* * *

 

She had lost her parents. Her in-laws. Her husband.

But no matter what she faced, no matter what life had in store —she was okay. She knew she’d be okay. Because May was convinced that grief – terrible, aching grief – was something you could live with. Live on with. Especially when you had someone to ground you, to be with you. To love you.

She had Peter.

And then she lost him too.

* * *

 

May would never recover from this.

* * *

 

Her grief counselor had said that she should move. Had tried to convince her that it was the right thing to do.

She had heard it all before – back with Ben and dismissed him.

May had been through the worst pain you could encounter. She’d buried her parents. Buried her husband’s brother and his wife.

Buried her husband.

May had been suffered loss after loss after loss.

The impossible. The unimaginable.

When May buried her child, she was sure that if she changed anything – if she moved, if she even _breathed_ differently – than her tenuous grasp on reality would crumble.

Her grief counselor was unconvinced.

She had pleaded with her, patient but firm. Tried to convince her that the move wouldn’t make it okay – _it would never be okay, I will never recover from this_ – but it would help.

Living in the same apartment they had shared. Without Ben. Without Peter.

The counselor was convinced it would destroy May.

_Too late. There’s nothing left in me to destroy._

* * *

She didn’t move.

For years. She didn’t move. She couldn’t bear it. The agony of passing by his room. The agony of thinking that he wouldn’t be in his room ever again.

But she couldn’t do it. Couldn’t think of a world where she _didn’t_ get to imagine him back in his room.

She was lost. Lost in a cycle of overwhelming and unimaginable grief.

When Ben had died, she had lost herself. Just for a minute. Just for a second.

But then Peter, he’d ask for some water, ask for something to eat, and May was grounded. Brought back to reality.

She couldn’t let go, not here, not yet.

Peter had grounded her. Brought her back to the world. She had to move forward. Had to try, had to figure out how to keep going.

And then Peter was gone.

And there was nothing.

Nothing.

May wondered if she’d ever be whole again.

_Never. I’ll never recover from this._

* * *

Hours. Weeks. Days. Months. A year. Maybe another.

Time didn’t exist for May. She lived in it. Outside of it. Nothing mattered.

Sometime – was there time? A week? A year? – she thought of Peter.

_Always. She always thought of Peter._

Peter had said that time was a social construct, an off-hand comment that had made May laugh.

“I’m serious, May! Just think of it! We all just arbitrarily decided that seven o’clock is suddenly seven? But then it’s not, if I’m in a different time zone? What does any of it even mean? What if I just decided that it was banana man time? Or forty-seven-oh-one? Just randomly?” Peter babbled, scraping up the last of his cereal before he headed to school.

“I think time is a pretty permanent concept, Peter. Decided on before you and I were even born.” May had smirked, taking a sip of her coffee. Black. Always black, after Ben.

She didn’t disagree with him. With loss, with grief, time could mean nothing. It was endless, an ocean of the impossible. What was time enough? When was she supposed to ‘move on’? Her co-workers had told her it had been almost three years since Ben died, that it was time for her to get out there again.

A year? Had it been? Wait, longer? She didn’t know. Sometimes it felt like yesterday.

Sometimes she still forgot Ben wasn’t on his way back home.

But Peter would get like this sometime. Hyper fixated on some train of thought. The sight of it would cause something to constrict in May’s chest.

He was so much like Ben. Sounded so much like Ben.

She loved watching him. She knew Ben would have too.

“But that’s the POINT, May! It was _decided_ on, something that we as a society just randomly said, ‘Yep! This is time! This is how we’re going to define it!’ It’s like that kid’s book Ben had told me about, about a kid who renamed a pen and tried to convince people to go along with it? What was it called?” He tapped his spoon, his brow furrowing, biting his lips.

Like Ben. So much like Ben.

“Careful, Pete you’ll burst a blood vessel thinking so hard.”

He grinned. “I’m just saying, May. It all just seems so random. Time, you know?”

“Yeah kid. I know.” She smiled back.

Just as quickly, Peter switched to something else. He grabbed his bowl, went to the sink to rinse it out and started jabbering about whatever had popped into his head.

Months later. Weeks. Years. She would beg her mind to tell her what she had missed. Would go over it and over again in her mind to figure out what he had said next. But no matter how much she tried, she couldn’t. She hadn’t been paying attention. She should’ve paid attention. Should’ve listened.

All she remembered was the feeling, the soft smile, the light pouring in from the window, illuminating their kitchen.

The clinking of the dish Peter washed and put away. The ringing lilt of his voice, chattery and light – filled with joy, deeper, like Ben’s – filling up her heart, her soul, her mind.

It was the warmest memory. The sweetest one she had.

Because it was her last.

* * *

 

He kissed her goodbye. Hugged her tight. She had hugged him back.

In her nightmares – she had new ones now, all about Peter, always Peter – she dismissed him. Waved him off without a second glance.

But it was just a nightmare. May hadn’t dismissed him. Hadn’t ignored her boy as he walked out of their door for the last time.

* * *

 

She’d wake up, pillow wet with tears, chest wracked with grief. Like before. She quietly padded down the hallway – knowing there was no one left to be quiet for.

She would go and look at his bed. Would see it empty, unmade.

She’d walk, slowly – and then all at once. Crouch down. Put a hand over his sheet, his blanket, his pillow. Peter never made his bed, May would always get on to him about it. Now she was so thankful that he didn’t. It was just as he left it. It still smelled just like him.

She would lean into it, wouldn’t lay there – she didn’t want his scent to go away – and breathe deep. Hold the sheet in one hand, press her face to the edge of his pillow, stabling herself with the other.

It was a nightmare. The horror. Impossible. Unfathomable. Unimaginable.

But as May cried, she could take comfort – a small comfort, the smallest, insignificant – that her nightmares weren’t true.

She hadn’t dismissed Peter. Hadn’t ignored him.

She’d held him.

* * *

 

One minute he was in the kitchen, and then the next he was almost out the door.

“You forgetting something, Peter?” She looked up at him, grin on her face – suit in hand.

He blushed, frazzled – always rushed. “I was thinking of not going out today, you know? Just a night in? You and me?”

An unreadable expression was on his face. Peter was a bad liar. May could sense something was off, was wrong. That Peter wasn’t telling her something.

She hadn’t dismissed him. Hadn’t ignored him.

But she had ignored this.

_I will never recover from this. I will never recover._

“You know I’m the last one to push you on this kid, but you sure? I thought you and Stark had something planned later?”

He blinked, debating something. “Ye-Yeah. We do, we’re supposed to meet up. I just thought, you know. I don’t want to be _only_ Spider-Man. It’s my last year at home, want to enjoy my time with you.”

She smiled warmly, bringing the suit to him, holding her arms out. Peter took the suit. Let her arms envelop him. She breathed deeply, tickled slightly by the mass of unruly curls.

_I miss your curls. Your smile. Your hugs. I miss you._

_I will never recover from this. I will never recover._

“You will never be _only_ Spider-Man, Peter. But he’s a part of you, I know that. And if you want to go out tonight, want to hang with Stark – don’t ever feel guilty about it.” She loosened her embrace, made him look up to her, taking his chin in her hand.

“I enjoy every minute of my life with you, Peter. And you’ll have me for the rest of my life. When you go to school, whatever you decide to do – you’ll have the rest of your life to worry about your old Aunt May.” He laughed, his eyes pooling with tears. She had seen something in them, she hadn’t thought to ask what.

“You’re only young once, Pete. Enjoy your time as Spider-Man, with your friends, with Stark. You have me for the rest of your life. I’m not going anywhere.”

He blinked, a tear escaping. May caressed a finger over his cheek, not thinking. Couldn’t imagine. Couldn’t have dreamed.

* * *

 

Peter had always been a boy who had felt too much, too deeply. Growing into a man who carried the world on his broadening shoulders. She hadn’t given thought to why he was crying, thought it was only nostalgia, of the idea of creating a memory of his life in high school before he moved on.

She couldn’t have imagined. Couldn’t have dreamed.

Impossible. Unfathomable. Unimaginable.

“I know that May. I love you.”

“I love you, Peter. Always.” She put her forehead to his, closed her eyes, and felt him relax.

She loved him.

She loved him.

She loved him.

The child she had never imagined. The child she couldn’t live without.

He was the bright spot in her soul. The light of her life. Her beating heart.

She gave him one last squeeze – _one more, just one more, come back, one more_ – and sent him off to school. He stuffed his suit in his bag, opened the door and looked back.

When Ben had died, she hadn’t known. Hadn’t any sense that her world was going to shatter just a few hours later. Couldn’t even remember the last thing they said to each other.

May wasn’t a religious person. But she thanked every deity she could think of, every being in the cosmos, the universe – that when Peter looked back, she was looking right at him.

Soaked it in. Seared it permanently into her memory.

The way the corner of his eyes crinkled, that his face lit up from his smile. His hair, curly and wild. His eyes. His beautiful brown eyes.

“Bye May. I love you.”

He left.

And then he was gone.

* * *

 

If the apartment was all she had left of her boys – she’d take it. If the pain of being both with and without Ben, without Peter, meant that she could hold on to something of him – some small piece of who he was, then she would relive the agony of that loss over and over again.

Would willingly pierce her heart every night when the terror woke her up.

Until one day. Week. Month. Year. Two years. Three?

Peter’s bed didn’t smell like him anymore.

It was gone.

He was gone.

Gone.

_I will never recover from this. I will never recover._

* * *

Later. Much later. She wasn’t sure when. She thought of Peter. Of Ben. But of Peter.

She thought of what had happened.

She knew bits, pieces – aware of fuzzy details she had heard over the years – months? Days? – of what happened with Spider-Man.

Stark had created something else for Peter – something reasonable, an alibi.

She didn’t know what it was. Couldn’t remember. Didn’t care.

Consumed. She had been consumed. Ached as she held him, in a dark room made darker because of the still, small body she held. She was shaking with the horror – the memory of what had previously been her worst nightmares, the reality of what she was facing now. 

Peter had held Ben as he went. She wondered if Peter had been held as he died.

She didn’t know. She didn’t care. She held Peter.

The child she couldn’t imagine. The child she couldn’t live without.

Cold. Gone. Unnaturally still.

She held him, rocked him against her chest.

People were there. She thinks. She doesn’t know. 

_I will never recover from this. I will never recover._

* * *

The grief counselor was right.

May moved.

* * *

 

MJ came to visit her. Years. Months? Decades. She didn’t know.

MJ had met a guy. She brought him to meet May, though May wondered how she had explained it. May wasn’t her family. Too old to be a friend. But May was glad to see her. Glad to meet this boy.

It wasn’t Peter. Never Peter. Her Peter was gone.

 _I will never recover from this. I will never recover_.

MJ was seeking approval. Allowing herself to live. To love.

May was grateful for it. Thankful.

As much as the loss of Ben shattered her, she had loved him – and he had loved her back.

They had had a life together. No matter how short.

MJ didn’t have that.

Maybe Matthew reminded her of Peter. They’d never dated, her and Peter. But May knew how MJ felt about him, would watch and observe as MJ would sneak glances towards her boy.

MJ didn’t express her feelings when she was young. Neither did Peter. She didn’t know. She couldn’t have known.

She didn’t know much Peter had liked her back.

May had been sworn to secrecy, promised Peter that she would never tell MJ until Peter had told her first.

Peter never got the chance but May kept his secret all the same. It didn’t feel right to break that promise, even then.

As she washed her dish – only dish, only one – she wondered what Matthew would be like. If he would be or look anything like Peter. If he’d be the opposite.

May wasn’t sure which bothered her more.  

But when she opened the door to greet them, she smiled.

Matthew had green eyes.

* * *

 

She took such pride in seeing his friends succeed.

Celebrated with Ned as he graduated. Got into grad school.

Loved the texts, the calls, the stories from him and MJ.

Weeks. Hours? Months. Years. They weren’t frequent, she thought. Maybe. She wasn’t sure.

Her days – did days exist? – were mechanical. She went through them. Went through the motions. It was habit.

Her body knew how to engage the world when it was grieving, even if her mind was elsewhere – always somewhere else.

She connected with friends. She thinks. She’s not sure.

She went out for coffee. For dinner. For movies.

She liked to hear about her friends. Liked to hear from MJ and Ned.

When Stark re-emerged, she even liked hearing from him.

* * *

 

May Parker had lost her child. She didn’t have time to care for the mourning of a billionaire.

But years. Days? Weeks? Decades?

She started to come back to herself.

It was slow. Slower than Ben. Much slower.

But she did. Slowly. She did.

It was gradual. Painful. Her heart felt like it broke every day – it was days – she was sure they existed now – but she kept going on.

There were days in her life again.

And when the days came back, she still thought endlessly of Peter.

* * *

 

She thought of Peter every day.

His laugh.

His smile.

His sarcasm. The talking back.

Peter wasn’t perfect. Had never been perfect.

He was foolishly brave. Stubborn.

Naïve in the way all children are.

He wasn’t a child. He was her child.

* * *

 

Months. She was sure of it this time. Months were passing.

She thought of Peter.

Ned had long graduated college. Was well into his graduate degree.

MJ had gotten married. Had a baby on the way.

It ached. The loss of milestones. The threads of Peter’s life that would never unfurl, the paths he never would take.

It ached. So much.

_I will never recover from this._

* * *

More months. A year. It had been a year.

She was in contact in Stark. Here and there. Often enough. Frequent.

She cared for him. For Stark. Knew now that Peter had been held as he was died. That Peter – in a twisted, cosmic and fated kind of way – had left just like Ben had.

Held gently, not alone – looking into the eyes of someone who loved him.

It shouldn’t have comforted her. It should horrify her, it did.

But comfort. There was comfort in that.

Stark had held him. Held her child as he had left.

So May started to care.

* * *

 

May needed a purpose. Needed something to ground her.

She understood the days now. Recognized the weeks, counted the months.

She felt them. Kept going. Grasped them.

When Ben had died, she lost herself for a minute. Just a minute.

Peter had brought her back.

When Peter died, she lost herself.

She lost herself.

_I will never recover from this._

But Peter – in his own way – brought her back again.

* * *

 

She talked to Stark about the scholarship, the grant – wasn’t sure of the details.

He’d been willing. Ready. Anything. Would do anything.

She thought it had been guilt. Another day she would talk to him about that. But for now, she needed to be grounded. Needed to ground herself.

For Peter.

Like always, for Peter.

* * *

 

The Peter Parker Memorial Fund.

Simple. Perfect. It was perfect.

She had total control over the funds, endless – Stark had promised. She was grateful but that wasn’t the point.

She gave to children in need. Children dedicated to science, to the arts, to anything as long they were passionate.

Sponsored field trips. Vacations. Adventures.

It gave her joy. To see the applications, to have the ability to change their lives – even if just for a minute.

She wondered if this had been it. What Ben had begun in her. What Peter had died for.

Helping people. May found so much joy in it.

It was a purpose.

Her purpose.

For Peter.

Like always, for Peter.

* * *

 

A decade. It had been a decade.

May was always sure of the days now.

Could count them. Could feel them.

Her body ached, but in a new way.

She was working. Worked hard – so hard.

Her heart would never stop breaking. Her world would never be the same.

 _I will never recover from this._ And yet. _I am here._

It had been a decade since Peter had died.

A decade since Spider-Man had left.

And today – this day, she knew it was a day – was the day May Parker let those two worlds collide.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually wrote this chapter after Tony’s because wading through May’s grief was just BEYOND me. Tony's is difficult in a different way, not so much grief but that first, initial shock. You know. The worst day. 
> 
> I don't want to handwave over the process of Tony's grief but after getting into May's headspace, I don't know if I can physically handle doing that again. Not to rush things, but I won't be seeing Endgame this weekend so I want to try and avoid the internet after it releases in the US. Since Endgame may just completely wreck me, I want to finish this story before then. I don't know, we'll see what I end up posting tomorrow. (Also for our international friends, please no spoilers in the comments!)
> 
> The idea behind May creating the Peter Parker Memorial Fund – bankrolled by Tony – is shamelessly inspired by something similar in “Reviving Peter Parker” by YellowDistress. 
> 
> If you want the sad feels™ that my story gives but want the relief of Peter ACTUALLY BEING ALIVE, please go read that one. After this chapter, it might even be therapeutic. 
> 
> Ugh. I need a hug. For the next one. Maybe you should give yourself a hug too. 
> 
> Cause this is it. Next one’s the end. 
> 
> The next one is the worst day.


	6. Tony

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part of the journey is the end. 
> 
> This is it. 
> 
> It’s the worst day.

Tony Stark was convinced that Peter Parker was going to be the death of him.

“Kid, look – just because some asshole in a rhino suit is terrorizing Greenwich doesn’t automatically make him your problem.” Tony pinched the bridge of his nose as a medic, armed with some kind of antiseptic, dabbed the wound on the kid’s side. 

Peter winced. Tony sighed. He was already expecting the next words out of the kid’s mouth.

“I think that makes him exactly my problem, Mr. Stark. He was terrorizing people – he could’ve hurt them. I can’t just sit back and watch it happen.”

Tony gave a look to Peter, the kid looking up at that ceiling with his lips pressed firmly together, clearly in pain but trying not to show it. Tony wasn't sure why he insisted on having the kid sit through basic first aid when he could heal so quickly, but it gave Tony piece of mind. Especially since the kid had a habit of hiding how hurt he was. 

_You never had to hide anything from me._

“Kid, what were you even doing over there? I know for a fact your little sphere of influence is across town.”

“I was on my way to see you.” Peter wriggled away from the medic’s hand and tried to stand up.

The snap of the glove diverts Tony’s attention way from the kid. The medic’s finished, or at least – as finished as the kid will let him.

Tony’s medical team is used to the scrapes, used to dealing with enhanced beings who didn’t need typical medical intervention. As the medic throws his gloves away and shoots an annoyed look at Tony – _he’s your problem now_ – Tony sighed again.

“Kid, what’d I tell you about using me as an excuse for your complete and utter lack of self-preservation?”

“Not to. And I don’t. I’m just being honest.” Peter limped over to the next table, grabbing the StarkPad to look over his injuries.

He knew what the kid was doing. Gauging to see how bad it was, to see how quickly he could get back out there.

Only sixteen and already well acquainted with his own medical limits. Tony could feel the migraine building at the back of his neck.

“You’re not going back out there.” He snatched the StarkPad out of his hands, knowing full well that Peter could’ve stopped him from doing so.

Peter just looked at him, fire in his eyes.

“I’m almost seventeen Mr. Stark. Practically eighteen. You’re not going to be able to stop me forever.”

“ _Watch me_.” He hissed, slamming the tablet down. It was an argument that they had over and over again, an argument Tony was sure he would have until the kid had sent him into an early grave.

_I hadn’t known. I wish I had known._

“I can’t just stand by while people are getting hurt, Mr. Stark. Isn’t that what you said? To look out for the little guy?” Peter’s voice raising.

“I said to _look out_ for the little guy, not to throw yourself into the fucking line of fire at the first sign of danger. Seriously Peter, do you have a fucking death wish?”

Tony felt the anger in his voice, knew that it was his job – as the adult, the one who had been doing this superhero shit for almost as long as Peter had been alive – to deescalate the situation.

But the kid was fucking stubborn. He didn’t get it. This wasn’t a game.

“I don’t—it’s not a death wish, Mr. Stark. I just refuse to stand by as people get hurt, not when it’s in my power to prevent it.” Peter was facing him directly now, eyes fiery, nose flaring.

He had grown taller since Tony had first met him. More confident. Sure of himself. Tony could almost pretend that Peter was really growing up.

Almost.

“And it’s in my power to prevent you from getting yourself killed before your eighteenth birthday, kid. Do you want to give your aunt a heart attack? Is that it? Hasn’t she dealt with enough shit in her life?”

_I hadn't realized. I didn't know. God, I wish I'd known._

It’s a low blow and Tony regrets it the minute the words are out of his mouth.

Peter deflates, his shoulders slackening, burdened by some invisible weight.

“Kid, I—”

“No, no you’re right, Mr. Stark.”

“I didn’t mean it like that, Pete, I just—”

“I know how you meant it.”

He’s looking right at Tony now. His eyes are vacant, seeing something that Tony couldn’t. He could give a guess to what it was.

“It wasn’t your fault, kid. You know that right?” Peter glances up.

“Yeah, yeah I know, Mr. Stark. I get that. It just…”

He could see the tears starting to form. Instinctually, Tony reaches out for him. Before he could second guess the move, before the rational part of Tony's brain kicked in, Peter’s arms envelop him. Tony hesitated for half a second, less than, before his arms encircle Peter.

“I get it, kid. I get it.”

* * *

 

Tony Stark wasn’t a touchy-feely person. Had never been. Psychoanalysis of his behavior would’ve argued that it’s because of childhood memories or some other kind of repressed bullshit.

Whatever. Tony didn’t care to hear what some quack job doctor thought of him. He just knew that when it came to physical affection, he wasn’t the person to go for it.

The kid was different. Tony found, more often than not, he would give Peter a hug goodbye. Would let the kid hug him when he got overwhelmed – burdened by a force to protect, by a force much greater than his young shoulders should have ever held.

It didn’t make sense to him. Rationally, Tony couldn’t understand it. Didn’t understand the urge to hold Peter. To cover him. To protect him.

Tony had never wanted kids before. He and Pepper had discussed it off-handedly throughout the years, but since it never seemed to be a priority in Pepper’s mind, Tony didn’t feel bad about not pushing the issue.

Then he met Peter. And inexplicably, he felt like a father.

* * *

 

The kid was always getting into shit. Always putting himself last, running for danger without even a thought to himself.

If Tony was a more cynical man – and God was he cynical – he would’ve thought the kid did it on purpose. That he really did have a death wish. But he’d search Peter’s wide eyes, would try to seek out some underlying reason for his sacrificial martyr complex.

But all he ever saw was the tearing of Peter’s soul, the knowledge that there were people out there in pain and that the kid – the damn kid with a heart as big as Kansas – wanted to help them all.

After the kid’s second tangle with the rhino idiot, Tony stopped trying to argue with him. He bandaged him up. Made sure he was okay. Hugged him. Sent him on his way.

_Tony would him hold him as he went. Hold him while the kid breathed his last._

_The horror of it would overwhelm him. The memory of cradling Peter Parker’s body as it grew cold would shatter him._

_Years later, he’d be thankful that he had listened to his gut and had hugged Peter all those times before. Thankful that he had so many memories of holding Peter, alive – his arms enclosing Peter while he breathed. Thankful that the memories could replace the final one._

* * *

_Never replace._

_They could never replace that._

_But they helped._

* * *

 

May had been pissed at him. He’d expected it. Had known from Pepper he had made a bad call.

It should’ve been his first priority to tell May the truth. To trust that the kid couldn’t be trusted at all. But Tony had made worse mistakes before.

“Surprise!”

May dropped her bag on the ground with a shriek, eyes frantic as she scanned the apartment.

It wasn’t much. Despite Peter’s protestations, Tony had negotiated the kid down to _only_ streamers throughout the living room, the kitchen, the hallway. The kid had wanted to literally re-paper the walls – give them a more _festive_ vibe. He rolled his eyes at his eagerness but secretly, he admired the kid.

Peter could write novels with the amount of horror he had been through. Would have given Stephen King a run for his money. And yet, the kid just kept getting back up. Always picked himself right back up. He had a passion for life. An incessant need to celebrate every milestone.

_Did you know kid? Was that why?_

May had gotten a promotion and the kid wanted to celebrate. He hadn’t realized that May had turned down the promotion because it would’ve meant more hours away from home.

Neither had Tony. Ergo. May. Surprised. Pissed.

“What the hell is this?” May’s voice cracked.

Peter faltered. “I—I wanted to just celebrate with you. For your new job, or er—new job thing? You mentioned that you had a promotion and I thought—”

“You thought wrong, kiddo.” May shoulders sagged, picking up her bag from the floor. “No promotion for me today.”

“Oh—uh, well I was so sure that—”

She sighed. “I know kiddo, we had talked about it but Daniels wasn’t exactly jazzed that I wanted to stay in the Queens location so.” She finally noticed Tony.

“Stark? What are you doing here?”

Tony felt out of place. Had felt out of place for the last hour, while Peter had frantically put the decorations up.

He’d plan to duck out before all of this, hadn’t even planned on staying as long as he had. But then Peter had absentmindedly mentioning getting a glue gun out of the closet and Tony’s irrational protective alarm went off about leaving the kid with a hot, metal object alone in his apartment. The kid fought mutated lizard freaks, idiots with guns, and a electricity powered assholes seemingly on a weekly basis but the thought of Peter handling a potential fire hazard by himself made Tony nauseated.

“May. Just here, giving the kid some pointers about proper party etiquette. I told him the streamers were very gauche, but you know the kid here, stubborn to a fault. Have I mentioned that he’s considering applying to CalTech? I’ve already disowned him for that, maybe you could talk some sense into him.”

Tony was deflecting, trying to change the subject cause he could see the gears turning in the kid’s brain, could almost hear the whirring of a brain thinking a few steps ahead of everyone else.

“So you backed out of a great promotion cause it would take you away from Queens? Why? For me?”

The kid’s voice was even, firm. How he could flip from being all bashfulness and smiles to this… other person was beyond Tony. He wondered if that was where Spider-Man came in – the presence of mind the kid had he donned the suit made Tony pause, wondering how he could switch so seamlessly between awkward teenager to superhero. But some part of him wondered if maybe the kid was really just growing up.

_I wish you had had the chance to grow up._

“Peter, we’ve talked about this. I want you to live your life – not worrying about me. But for as long as you’re here, I’m going to be here too.” May closed her eyes but Tony could see how she clenched her teeth. Preparing for the argument Peter was already going to give.

Peter had always been combatant about the things he disagreed with. For all his stammering and inability to string together a fully formed sentence, he had become more forceful in the past few months. Secretly, when talking with May, Pepper, even Happy – he wondered if this was some kind of late stage rebellion. If the wonder boy had finally switched over to being a real teenager.

_You were preparing us for it, kid. We didn’t know. We didn’t see it. I know you did. You felt it. You told me that you knew._

_I just wish you had told me sooner. Wish I had seen it._

“May, you can’t keep using me as an excuse for not wanting to move forward in life.”

May’s eyes narrowed.

“I’m moving forward just fine, Peter. I am _trying_ to look out for you. The job would’ve been too much anyway.”

“That’s not true and you know it.”

“Watch it, Parker. You’re not as grown as you think you are.”

Peter put the pack of streamers down. Quiet. Still. He looked up at May.

“You’ll regret it. Not taking the job.”

Tony saw the fight leave May as she sighed and walked over to Peter.

“I love every minute of my life with you.” She hugged Peter tightly and he returned it.

_Always hugging. Maybe that’s where it came from. You were surrounded by love, kid. Basked in it. I hope you felt it. I think you did._

Tony felt out of place, an intruder in a home that wasn’t his own. He should’ve ducked out. Should’ve tried to sneak towards the door. But the Parker apartment was so damn small and there really wasn’t anywhere for Tony to go. Before Tony could hear something that would haunt him for years.

“I just don’t want you to regret your life when I’m gone.”

_God, kid. How couldn’t we see it? You knew. You’d known. You were trying to tell us that you knew something was coming. May had seen it. Ned had too. Fuck, you were practically shouting it to me._

_I couldn’t see it. Hadn’t wanted to._

_I’m sorry I didn’t, kid. I’m sorry I couldn’t save you._

* * *

In the end, what ended the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man wasn’t a mutant. Wasn’t a science experiment. Wasn’t anything alien, magical, or otherwise.

It had been a kid. A scared kid.

Months… years… Tony would learn the details of what exactly led Peter to the that building. What perfect and horrifying sequence of events led to Spider-Man running towards a kid with a bomb strapped to his chest.

* * *

How Peter – at the first sign of how dangerous the situation was – had told Ned to call the police, to evacuate the building. Had asked Karen to alert Tony, to tell him that the kid with the bomb was too scared, too nervous, too trigger happy.

_That should've been my first clue, kid. You never called me. You tried to take care of everything yourself - trying to handle it before it was a burden on anyone else._

_You were never a burden to me._

Tony had heard the alert. Was already halfway suited up before the alarm had even finished blaring. He vividly remembered how he called the kid once, twice.

“Kid, I’m forcing myself through.”

“Stop, Tony. You’re going to scare him.”

He paused. Peter never called him Tony. He tapped into the Baby Monitor protocol, eyes widening.

“Look – hey – hey – it’s just me. Just me.” Tony could see through Peter’s eyes, the kid. The bomb. The shaking hands.

“Step—step back! I’m going to do it!”

“Okay man, hey – look. It’s just you and me. Let’s just talk for a minute okay?” Peter’s hands were raised, creeping slowly towards the kid.

“DON’T COME ANY CLOSER!”

Peter stopped. “I’m not gonna hurt you, man. I—just give me a second.”

Tony could see the interference through the monitor, could see that Ned was trying to hack into the suit – trying to push his call through. If he hadn’t been so focused on the kid, Tony almost would’ve made a mental note to see if Ned wanted a job at SI in the future. But Tony’s focus was driven solely to the kid. His kid. Peter. Talking to another kid with a bomb.

_I should’ve looked kid. Should’ve been more aware._

_I was only focused on you._

“Ned, this is not the time.”

“Who is that? Who are you talking to!?”

“No one man, just you and me. Let me just –”

He saw Peter’s head move, quickly whispering.

“Not now Ned. Look just call the police okay? I’ll call you back.” He turned the com off, enacting some function that disabled Ned from calling back in.

_If you’d known that would be it kid, you wouldn’t have been so short with him. But you did? Maybe you did. I don’t know, kid. It wrecked him for years. I know you tried to tell me he shouldn’t blame himself._

_He did._

_I didn’t._

_I blamed myself._

_Why couldn’t I see it?_

“WHO WAS THAT?” The kid was shaking even more so. Not his kid. The bomb kid. Peter was eerily calm. Unlike himself.

“I told you. It’s just you and me, man. I just had to tell some people that we were okay. We are okay right?”

Tony could see the kid give a slight nod, his whole body shaking. “Y-yeah?”

“Yeah. We’re okay. We’re just having a conversation right? We can do that? What’s your name?”

“Al-Alan.”

“Hey Alan. I’m Spider-Man. You probably knew that, you know – the suit is a dead giveaway.” Peter’s snark was lost on the kid – Alan – but Peter seemed confident. Secure. Calm.

“I don’t think you want to hurt me Alan.”

Alan’s head jerked upwards, eyes wild, hands shaking. Tony – transfixed by the monitor – suited up, ready to go.

 _How were you so fucking calm?_ _Is it because you knew? You knew you weren’t getting out of this?_

_How could you fucking do that to us, Peter?_

_Why hadn’t I seen it?_

“I don’t have a choice. I have to. They’re watching.”

Tony froze.

* * *

He learned later who it was. Some vestiges of HYDRA hellbent on inciting terror wherever they could. They had snatched the kid – Alan. Threatened his family. Had told him there was a sniper trained on him. Had lied.

Tony hadn’t known that then. Had been unfocused, panicked by the situation. He had gone back to try and watch the video of the seconds he missed while he was frozen, stricken by the panic the kid felt – the panic that restricted Tony from moving – from leaving. From breathing.  

But it didn’t matter. How it happened didn’t matter. Because when Tony returned back to his body, all of a sudden the kid – his kid, Peter – was suddenly switching places with Alan.

“Peter, what the hell are you doing?”

He couldn’t see. Peter had taken off the mask. Tony could see from his HUD monitor that the suit was still on him, could hear pieces of what the kid was murmuring to Alan.

Alan Whitaker had been seventeen years old when HYDRA had strapped a bomb on him. Long brown hair, blue eyes. A red shirt. It was almost comical, cosmic. Fate.

The one kid who could passably pretend to be him from behind was Spider-Man, a sixteen-year old Peter Parker without his mask.

* * *

Alan was almost thirty now. Had gotten married. Had one kid and last Tony heard, had another on the way. He’d send Tony Christmas cards. Tony sent him some back.

Polite. Not unfriendly. But they had never spoken. Never would.

_I blamed him for years, kid. He blamed himself even more._

* * *

“Peter. What’s going on? FRIDAY, enhance the audio from Peter’s mask.”

Tony was frantic, out of the tower. Already flying to where the GPS from Peter’s suit was pinging from. Lost time. He had lost too much time. The panic – those fucking panic attacks – made him lose time.

“Hold on Mr. Stark, I got it. It’s—it’s gonna be okay.”

_You were trying to calm me down. You weren’t even worried. You should’ve been worried, kid._

_But you weren't._

_You knew._

* * *

Three minutes away.

“Peter, I’m three minutes out. Take your ass out of that vest and get the hell out of there. FRIDAY, scan the building and see if you can get the schematics for how to disable that bomb.”

“I am currently unable to do that, boss. We’re still too far out.”

“Hack a satellite dammit, just get it done. Peter, are you there?”

“I’m fine, Mr. Stark. I got this. I know what to do.”

_I should’ve wondered how you knew. I was panicking. I wasn’t thinking. I’m sorry I didn’t catch it, kid._

Two minutes. Thirty seconds.

“What the fuck do you mean, you _got_ it? They teach you how to defuse bombs at that school of yours? Listen to me, Parker. You get the fuck out of that vest and out of that building.”

“I’ve seen this vest before, Mr. Stark. I know what I’m doing. I can defuse it.”

Two minutes.

“FRIDAY, boost thrusters. Peter, I’m not going to ask you second time. I don’t care if you watched some YouTube video with Ted. Put. The. Bomb. Down.”

FRIDAY – finally fucking doing her job – chimes in. “It’s weight sensitive, boss. If Peter puts it down, it’ll automatically detonate.”

Tony would’ve panicked then. Would’ve panicked more because he realized Peter could still hear him. Could hear FRIDAY. But all he could hear was Peter’s voice. Clear. Calm. Firm.

_How could you not fucking tell me you knew?_

_Had FRIDAY warned me? She had. I hadn’t heard it. Why hadn’t I heard it?_

“That’s why I can’t leave, Mr. Stark. I know this kind of bomb. It’ll go off if the weight changes. Why Alan was so scared to leave. But he did. He’s safe. It’s okay, Mr. Stark. I can defuse this.”

_You weren’t safe. I couldn’t save you._

One minute.

Tony is thirty seconds away from Peter. Thirty seconds away from either ripping the bomb out of his hands or going down with him.

He didn’t care.

The kid.

His kid.

Peter.

Tony had to get to him.

“Peter what side of the building are on?”

“The right. Don’t come in, Mr. Stark. I’ve almost—”

And then the next few seconds go in slow motion.

He flies in. Iron Man – a suit built to withstand the force of a small bomb. Tony, already deciding he’d absorb the impact.

The kid. Peter, calm hands. Steady. He had switched some wire. His face lit up when he saw Tony, his mouth opening wide into a relieved smile, almost in disbelief that he had actually done it. For a half-second, Tony wondered if Peter hadn’t been as calm as he pretended to be.

_How could you have been? How could you, Peter?_

_How could you leave?_

* * *

He had done it. Tony learned later – much later, _years_ later – the kid had been successful in dismantling the trigger. That the kid had had a bad feeling for weeks. Had a sense that something was going to happen. A feeling that he had to know what to do, had to prepare for something but couldn’t explain what.

Tony should’ve noticed, should’ve paid more attention. Should’ve recognized the late nights in the workshop, the weird requests he’d seen that FRIDAY logged. Lessons on taking care of burn wounds. On drowning. On CPR. On defusing bombs.

The kid had been preparing for something, something he knew was going to be the end of him. Had been cryptic with Ned, hinted at it with May. Tony wasn’t sure how long the kid’s senses had been pressing on him, but it was enough that now – years later, a decade, - Tony agonized that Peter had had a sense that his short life was coming to an end.

Peter’s sense for danger was an afterthought in Tony’s mind, a part of Peter’s powers that Tony had ignored because he didn’t understand. Tony was a man of science, of reason. He accepted that there were gods of thunder and mischief, accepted that there were worlds and universes beyond his own.

But the kid’s sense of foreboding hadn’t even crossed his mind as something to look into, to consider, to watch out for.

_I wish I had. I'll never forgive myself for that._

Tony pieced together a vague timeline, based on comments from May and Ned, in a conversation with MJ. It hadn’t been long, a few weeks – a couple of months at most. But it had haunted Peter, bothered him.

_I wish you had told me, kid. Someone. Anyone. We could’ve helped you. We could’ve saved you._

_I couldn’t save you._

Peter had gotten so quiet those last few months. Thinking, seeing the world around him and beyond. Tony knew now that it was the kind of reflection of men much older than he – the type of self-awareness of soldiers going into a losing battle, the strength of those who were presciently aware they were in their final days.

Peter senses had been warning for something that he would be a part of, an encounter that Peter wouldn’t be able to avoid. Something important. Destined for. Something he couldn’t shake.

_There was nothing more important than you._

* * *

What happened next would torture Tony for years. He would agonize over his lack of attention to anything else but the kid… would disable FRIDAY only to turn her back on to go over the footage again.

_She had warned me. It wasn’t her fault. I just hadn’t listened. Focused. Panicked. Only on you._

_I should’ve saved you._

* * *

Peter had successfully diffused the bomb on his chest. But just as quickly as he’d done that, another detonator went off. For the bomb behind him. The bomb Peter – for all his fucking near precognitive senses could share with him – had missed.

The bomb went off.

And all Tony saw was black.

* * *

His senses screamed at him. Disoriented. Ringing. He been around enough explosions that his body was almost on auto-pilot. But then.

The kid.

He panicked.

“Kid? KID? PETER?”

Nothing.

* * *

Despite HYDRA’s best laid plans, the second bomb hadn’t been enough to bring the building down. Hadn’t been enough to shatter anything but Tony’s world.

That was what Alan had been for, to provide enough power that the collateral damage would have shaken the foundation.

It hadn’t been a well-coordinated attack, but a planned one. The two bombs would go off. Set a chain reaction. A signal. The strikes, the pockets of HYDRA would know to mobilize. To cause terror. Wreak havoc. Take advantage of the pain and hysteria.

They hadn’t anticipated Spider-Man. Hadn’t guessed that Peter Parker would not only talk the kid down but would transfer that first bomb quick enough to carry it himself. Be quick enough to dismantle it.

They hadn’t even known Spider-Man to underestimate him.

But they did.

They had.

And the world would later learn about it.

* * *

“PETER! PETER!?” Tony staggered, trying desperately to breathe. But his only focus, his only fight to survive wasn’t for himself. It was for Peter.

The kid. The kid. Find his kid. Find Peter.

He stumbled over himself, hissed at the pain he felt in his leg. The impact had been dead on – while Tony had been thrown back by the blast, had been winded – the bomb had to have hit Peter from behind. He had to have been unconscious somewhere, knocked out. Why else wasn’t he responding? He had to hear Tony screaming for him.

 _I almost missed you. I almost lost you_.

_I did. I lost you._

“Peter, answer me!”

And then he saw him.

Peter’s pale little body was crumpled, the burns on his back so severe it made Tony want to gag. There was blood. Too much blood. Tony couldn’t run, could barely walk, the pain in his leg was aching. His back was screaming at him. But he felt a stronger ache about to overtake him. He had to get to the kid. His kid. Peter.

“Peter.” He whispered, leaning down over to the kid and slowly turning him over.

His face was pale. Eyes closed. A trickle of blood coming out of the edge of his mouth.

“FRIDAY, scan vitals.” Tony was shaking. His hands, his voice.

He didn’t want to move him, didn’t want to risk giving any further damage. Didn’t want to risk permanent spinal damage.

_I should’ve held you sooner kid._

FRIDAY started to list the injuries Peter had but the ringing in Tony’s ears hadn’t stopped. Fractures. Internal bleeding. A broken rib. Ribs. Punctured lung. The burns. His lungs. The kid was bleeding.

 _Too much_.  

Tony knew that the kid’s healing was incredible, that he had been kicked down by enhanced beings, by circus freaks – and he’d go down. But he always got back up.

The ringing, the flashing, FRIDAY droning on about the damage the kid had.

It was too much. The kid’s healing wouldn’t be able to keep up with this.

Tony felt like he couldn’t breathe.

But then he heard the kid wheeze and suddenly it wasn’t about Tony anymore.

“Hey, hey kid – I’m here. I’m right here.” Tony’s faceplate had already come up, the rest of the suit dematerializing just as quickly as he put his hand to Peter’s pale face.

On some level he knew he should have his guard up. That if whoever had detonated the bomb was anywhere close by, they would’ve seen Tony, seen Iron Man and then Peter’s injuries wouldn’t have mattered. But Tony didn’t care. Wouldn’t learn till later that the cowards had lied.

They had set the kid – Alan – up to take the fall, to be the bait. But it hadn’t been Alan. It’d been Peter.

_It should’ve been me, kid. What I wouldn’t give for it to have been me._

Peter’s eyes fluttered open, glassy and a little unfocused. He choked on something Tony couldn’t see, but he could hear the rasp in his voice, the way his breath sounded water-logged. Peter was drowning in his own blood. He had to move him. He couldn’t move him.

“To-Tony.” The kid wheezed.

“I’m here, kid. I’m here. Look at me, I’m right here.” Peter wasn’t focusing on him, so Tony held his face in his hands, making it so that Peter couldn’t help but lock eyes on him.

“Tony—” Peter was gasping, struggling to breathe.

Tony knew what to do in crisis situations. Knew CPR, first-aid, been in enough battles to preform triage when it was needed.

He knew enough to know what to do to save someone.

Knew when when you couldn't save them at all. 

No. Not the kid. Not his kid. Not Peter.

“You listen to me kid, and you listen good. You are not dying tonight. This is not the end for you. This is not the end for Peter Parker, you hear me? This isn’t it. You can’t do this kid. Not to me, kid okay? You hear me?”

Peter coughed, his breaths growing shorter. “M-May—”

“She’ll be in the med bay. Just like always. Pissed as hell but come on kid. Look at me. You gotta get there, okay?”

The sob started to grow in the back of Tony’s throat, his eyes watering before he could help it. He couldn’t cry. Tony couldn’t panic when the kid was right there in front of him. He had to stay calm. Had to have the same preternatural calm the kid had had just a few minutes ago. But he couldn’t help it. He saw the kid’s eyes blurring, the way his chest was rising and falling way too fast.

There was no coming back from this.

The kid was dying.

“Tell—tell May…” the kid was panting, trying so hard to speak.

“Shh, it’s okay. You’ll tell her in a minute kid, you’ll tell herself.”

“Love her. I love h—her.” Tony couldn’t hold back the sob now.

“Yeah I know kid. You do. I know you do. Come on now, you’ll get to see her in a minute. Just hold on for me okay?”

Tony could hear the sirens in the background, somewhere, the back of his mind. Maybe he was imagining it. He knew the Spider-Man suit had an automatic panic signal, had created it specifically for this reason - that FRIDAY would detect the kind of damage the kid was suffering and would have called the cavalry.

_I never expected you to use it. I hadn’t realized that the cavalry would come too late for you._

The kid tried to lift himself up but cried out in pain at the sudden motion.

“Hey whoa – no. No moving just yet pal. We’re just gonna stay here for a second. You can probably hear the paramedics, they’re on their way. We’ll just wait here together for them okay?”

* * *

Ned had asked him later about that. If Peter had been overwhelmed. He knew probably better than Tony did how often Peter’s senses would go into overload, how many times the kid would have to duck out of gym, or chem class, or even out of the fucking hallway and try to focus – try to bring himself back into the present.

Ned had wanted to know if Peter had been peaceful when he died. Wanted to know if he’d been in pain.  

Tony had lashed out at him. Didn’t speak to him for months.

Years later. Almost a decade, at Michelle’s wedding – Tony would tell Ned the truth.

He hadn’t known if Peter was overwhelmed. Didn’t know if Peter had heard the ambulances. Didn’t even know how much pain the kid was in.

But he knew one thing at least.

Peter had asked for Ned.

* * *

“Tell Ned. Tell Ned.” Peter’s breaths were shallower now. Getting quicker, wetter. Tony knew what it meant but pushed it out of his head.

_Not you, Peter. It was surreal. Unimaginable. It couldn’t be happening. Not to you._

“What do you want me to tell him, kid?”

Peter didn’t answer, Tony watching with horror as Peter started to close his eyes.

“Fuck – Peter don’t do that. Look, look at me kid.” He shook him, likely doing further untold damage to him but Tony didn’t care. The kid didn’t get to fucking die on him. Not here. Not his kid. Not Peter.

Peter’s eyes were wide, frantic. He clung to Tony.

“Tony.”

“I’m not leaving kid. I’m right here. I’m right here with you.” The kid shuddered, goosebumps everywhere.

_I relived this moment for years. Decades. Unfathomable. Unimaginable._

“Tony. I knew… I knew some—something.” Peter wheezed, the light behind his eyes getting dimmer. Tony knew it was only seconds till the inevitable. The unfathomable. The impossible.

Tony’s vision was hazy from his own tears. “It’s okay kid, It’s okay. It doesn’t matter.”

Peter was insistent.

“I’m sor—sorry. I knew. I sh-should’ve—” a sharp gasp, “Should’ve t—told you.”

_I wish you had told me. I wish I had known. I forgave you, kid. I forgive you._

“You couldn’t have known, kid. It’s okay. I’m here. I’m right here with you.” Tony was breaking inside. One arm wrapped around Peter’s body, another softly cradling Peter’s face.

Not a second ago, the kid had been trying to sit up – tried to move or stand. Now, Peter was nearly limp in his arms as his breaths were coming too quick, too shallow. Tony pushed away some of Peter’s curls— trying and failing to choke back the stream of tears running down his face.

_The unfathomable. The impossible._

_The unimaginable._

“Tony—” Peter’s eyes were locked on his.

“I’m here, Peter. I’m not going to leave you. I’m right here. Right here with you, Peter. You did good, kid. I’m so proud of you. So proud.”

A flicker of recognition. A small smile. Peter gasped one last time.

And then he was gone.

* * *

_I held you as tightly as I could._

_Tried to push everything away. The unfathomable. The impossible._

_The unimaginable._

_I ran my fingers through your hair. Begged. Pleaded. Cried out for you to open your eyes._

_But you were gone, kid. I knew it. Felt it._

_I just couldn’t face it._

* * *

_Rhodey was there._

_Maybe._

_He told me later._

_I hadn’t realized._

_I was holding you._

_Thank God he was._

_He had been able to stop the cops from storming in. Stop them from seeing you. From seeing your face._

_You tried so hard to protect your identity, kid._

_At least someone was looking out for you at the end._

_I couldn’t._

_I couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe._

_I just held you._

* * *

_We made it back to the Tower._

_I don’t know how._

_I was holding you._

_Happy was there. Saw you._

_I think. I don’t know. Pepper told me later._

_Much later._

_I couldn’t see anyone but you._

_Couldn’t focus. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t let go._

_I wouldn’t let you go. Couldn’t leave you alone._

_I held you kid. I promised I would._

* * *

_May came to see you. Pepper had to drag me away._

_I couldn’t leave the room. I stayed, stayed while she held you._

_I tried to tell her, tried to say that I had held you._

_She hadn’t listened._

_It didn’t matter._

_Nothing mattered._

* * *

_Someone called Ned. Happy? Someone._

_His eyes were red, pained – I’d never seen him like that before._

_He cursed at me, broke things._

_So did I._

_He blamed me._

_So did I._

* * *

_They had to sedate me, tear me away from that miserably cold room._

_Pepper. Rhodey. They didn’t understand._

_I had to hold you._

_I had held you._

_I held you as long as I could, kid._

_I held you._

_You didn’t go alone._

_I was there._

_I was with you._

_You didn’t go alone._

_I didn’t let you go._

* * *

_But I let go._

* * *

It would be years before Tony Stark returned to himself.

Years before Tony even felt anything like a person again.

But he did.

Impossible.

Unfathomable.

Unimaginable.

But he did.

For the kid. His kid. Peter.

* * *

In the end, what ended the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man wasn’t a mutant. Wasn’t a science experiment. Wasn’t anything alien, magical, or otherwise.

It had been a kid. A scared kid.

And Spider-Man had saved him. Would’ve always saved him.

Because that’s who Spider-Man was.

Who Peter Parker had been.

* * *

Spider-Man was forever memorialized by the city. Even now. Years later. The world knew what he did. 

That Spider-Man had known the risk. Spider-Man had seen a kid, seen the terror in his eyes.

That Spider-Man had worked quickly. Calmly. Had a building evacuated. Saved countless lives. Stopped terror from invading the word in a new way.

But it was important that they recognized, important for Tony to stress.

Spider-Man hadn’t just the saved the thousands. It hadn’t been for the thousands.

He had worked hard to save the one. And he did. He had. He’d save the kid.

Because he was one. A kid. His kid. Peter.

* * *

May told him what she had planned. Wondered if it was the right thing to do.

Tony would’ve agreed to anything. Did agree – to anything. Anything she wanted.

But he meant it wholeheartedly when he agreed with her then. Was convinced of it without a second thought.

There were still Spider-Man memorial popups. Art exhibits. Graffiti tributes. His memory still untouchable. His statue forever lit by soft candle light.

Spider-Man would forever be thought of the protector of the little guy. Would be forever known. Forever loved.

And now the world knew who Spider-Man really was. That Spider-Man wasn’t a man – not in age or stature.

But a man. A child. Lightyears ahead of his time. Wiser than his years. Frozen at sixteen.  

The world had learned about Spider-Man. Celebrated him. Praised him. Mourned him.

A decade later, they learned who he really was. The man behind the mask.

The world learned about Peter Parker.

And they mourned all over again.

* * *

The years passed. The decades rolled on.

Tony got older. Always older. Moving forward.

Tony dreamt of Peter. Of seeing him again someday. He didn’t ask if it was possible. Didn’t rationalize it in his head.

He didn’t know.

Would never know, he guessed, until the end.

But until that end, he promised the kid again. Over and over again.

Tony wouldn’t let him go.

He never let him go.

May had started it, but Tony intended to finish it.

The world would know of Peter Parker.

_I held you as tightly as I could, kid._

_I held you._

_I held you._

_I held you._

_And now they hold your memory too._

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

When Peter Parker was seven years old, his parents died. The loss was so great, unthinkable. Unimaginable.

But he never gave up. Peter Parker always got up.

* * *

When Peter Parker was seven years old, he met a best friend. His name was Ned.

Moved in with his aunt and uncle.

Ben. May.

He loved them.

Then he lost one.

But he never gave up. Always got up.

* * *

When Peter Parker was fourteen years old, he got bit by a spider and became a hero.

He donned the mask. For Ben. May. Ned. MJ. For everyone in Queens who needed someone to watch over them. For the little guy.

He got kicked down. Thrown around. Hurt.

But he never gave up. Always got up.

* * *

When Peter Parker was sixteen years old, he died.

He had lived. He had loved. Had been loved.

There was so much more Peter Parker could’ve done.

But he didn’t. He couldn’t.

He was gone.

* * *

When Peter Parker left, it wrecked the world of the people he left behind. 

The loss of him was impossible.

Unfathomable.

Unimaginable.

A hole that could never be filled.

His family. His friends.

There was no going back.

They could never back.

But they loved him. Would always love him.

Would move forward.

Would try.

* * *

Peter Parker had never given up.

So they never gave up.

They never gave up.

They never gave up.

And ultimately.

Impossibly.

Unimaginably.

They got up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all who stuck with me throughout this painful journey through grief. The death of someone you love is impossible, unfathomable, unimaginable. Writing the journey of Peter Parker’s family and friends was cathartic in a way I hadn’t realized I needed. 
> 
> After the dust is settled, the funeral is over, and you're faced with the rest of your life, the road to living without the person you love is… indescribable. You have to learn how to carve a life so different and yet so achingly similar to what it was before. Knowing you can never return. Knowing that there is no going back – and yet, you press on. 
> 
> I haven’t seen Endgame yet (no spoilers please!) but in real life, death is forever. The heartbreak of seeing Peter Parker fade away in Infinity War was agonizing and thinking about the MCU and what it would mean if Peter’s death was permanent sent me in a tailspin last Sunday…. so much so that I couldn’t rest until this monstrosity was written. 
> 
> What a way to introduce yourself into fanfiction: writing a story about the absolute worst thing imaginable happening to one of the best, brightest, and inspirational characters. Peter Parker is a hero and he must be protected at all costs.
> 
> (Even if I killed him in this story. And didn’t bring back. Again, let me just say, from the bottom of my heart – my bad.)  
> Created a tumblr so feel free to scream at me at seek-rest.tumblr.com
> 
> Thank you for the kind comments. I’m sorry for the pain. I hope you take care of yourself. I hope that if you lost someone you love that you remember that despite it all – there’s a tomorrow. 
> 
> I hope that you don’t give up. 
> 
> I hope you remember to always get back up.


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